


A Fight For Survival

by BlueFireRedIce



Series: The Book of Bravo [2]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Clay suffers from smother hen tendancies, Everybody angst really, Hostage Rescue, Hurt Brock, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mentions of Blood, Trent angst, being in charge sucks sometimes, hurt Full Metal, jason angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23016769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/BlueFireRedIce
Summary: What if Brock's radio call for assistance never made it out?
Series: The Book of Bravo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915066
Comments: 140
Kudos: 163





	1. Breach and Defend

**A/N: Greetings! I've been lingering in the background for a couple months and have been planning a story for this fandom for a whee while (the ad for the Phillipines Bombing storyline when it aired in NZ is what finally convinced me to watch the show, and oh boy was I pleasantly surprised!) - however inspiration struck heavily after the rather intense winter premiere, hence me publishing this now. I had hoped to get it all done before this week's episode aired, but I ended up on a road trip with my dad for a couple of days which pushed the completion back.**

**A bit about me, I've mainly been active in the Hobbit and other related fandoms for the past few years, but I've decided it's time to branch out and get all these ideas I've had out for others in other fandoms to see! Also, I'm a HUGE fan of writing hurt/comfort/angst stories, so something tells me I might just fit in this fandom too :P**

**Admittedly, this is my first time publishing directly from my phone to A03, and I'm NOT a fan, as I can't tag everything that's non-generic. So I'll stick to publishing off my computer I think. I'll add the rest of the tags tonight, and fix any formatting issues.**

**Also, while I'm a Clay fan, I've also become a huge fan of Brock and Trent, so this is focused more on our beloved canine handler. Just FYI :)**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

The last gunshot echoed through the lot, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. 

Checking that the gunmen were dead, Jason moved quickly towards the building at the far end; his men flanking him, his gun raised high and his finger beside the trigger. They were running out of time, and quickly; if they weren’t at the evac point when they were supposed to be, there’d be hell to pay. 

The vehicles that the tangos had been using would provide good cover for them if they needed it, and the mounted .50cal in the bed of one of the trucks would give them an advantage and extra defence - both of which was sorely needed right now.

He hesitated for a moment; reluctant to leave even one of his men out of the warehouse breach, but logic and experience of the gigantic clusterfuck the last two days had been told him that if he didn’t leave an external defence they'd end up in even deeper shit.

“Brock, Full Metal, stronghold the vehicles. The rest on me.”

Both men peeled off for the trucks, and he sent up a quick prayer that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

Brock and Full Metal were elite soldiers; having been tested in the harshest of conditions and had always come out on top. Brock, his quietest brother, always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else and was exactly where he was needed, or already holding what you were about to ask for. Metal was the leader of Alpha, on loan to them for the foreseeable future while several of his squad recovered from injuries they'd received in an ambush about a month back. When the Brass had decided to split the remaining Alpha members between the squads, Bravo had all but marched into their cage room, grabbed Metal and his gear and marched out again with their temporary member in tow.

Both men were among the best of the best, but Jason couldn’t shake the niggly feeling that separating from them was the wrong call. It was probably down to the fact that everybody and their dog was out to get them.

Shelving his concerns for the matter at hand, the rest of his team moved for the entrance they could see and lined up either side. They all checked their mags, and the varying levels of distaste and frustration at what they saw was evident.

“Well,” Clay said when they briefly locked eyes. “Better make ‘em count.”

He nodded once, and checked his own – biting down on his rising irritation. Less than half a mag and then he was on Winchester. Fucking marvellous.

Trent joined him, the charge secured to the door and the fuse in his hand. “On you, boss.”

Just then, the radio crackled to life, but other than several seconds of static nothing came through. Frowning, Jason glanced over his shoulder. He saw nothing; and considering comms were patchy with HAVOC to begin with, there was no way of knowing whether the attempted contact was them or his two brother’s.

Looking at Trent, he nodded. “Blow it.”

Three seconds later, the door caved in and they moved inside; immediately coming across three hostiles that had been lounging around a table playing cards moments earlier, but were now waiting to greet them.

“Mine.” That was Clay, Ray and Vic at almost the same time before three shots rang out and the targets dropped, eliminated.

“That was some mighty fine shooting there, boys,” Sonny drawled as they fanned out, moving quickly through the lower levels and uplifting the weapons beside the bodies – usually a no-no because of the unknown condition of the guns, but they were desperate and short of better options.

As they converged on the stairs the radio crackled to life again, but the static was so strong Jason could barely make out what was being said.

“…avo… is Br… 5, …cles, … su…”

He moved away from the stairwell to try and reduce the interference before keying the mic. “Bravo 5 this is 1, say again.”

Static crackled in his ear in response.

Frowning, he moved again. “Bravo 5, come in.”

Static replied yet again instead of the person he wanted to hear from.

Fuck. Jason moved as close to the wall as he could to try reduce whatever was disrupting the signal and tried for a third time. “Full Metal, do you copy?”

When all he heard was static yet again, he snarled in frustration. There was nothing they could do now, shy of sending someone back to them, but he'd be exposing whichever brother he picked to a potential ambush if any fighters were hiding - waiting for the opportunity to sneak up behind them.

The grim looks on his team's faces proved they were thinking the same thing. “Let's move.”

“We need to haul ass, Jase,” Ray reminded him as he fell into step. “We're cutting it close.” Our brothers could be running out of time, was the unspoken warning.

Halfway up the stairwell, muted, rapid gunfire could be heard.

“Shit,” Vic muttered, eyes flitting to the direction it was coming from.

“That sounds like a .50cal,” Trent added quietly. 

He nodded once in acknowledgement, but waved them on. Trying the radio again resulted in the whole lot of nothing he’d gotten before, and Jason gave up. Brock and Metal were on their own for the foreseeable future.

They made it to the second floor where they were met with a dozen armed fighters. Jason had a split second to realise one had a belt of grenades slung across his torso; and was about to throw one of the frags their way.

Before he could even yell out a warning, the guy dropped with a bullet to the head; the grenade slipping from lax fingers to land beside his body.

“EVERYBODY DOWN!”

He had just enough time to see his brother’s sprint for cover before the building shook with the force of a massive explosion, sending brick and mortar raining down on top of them. 

* * *

  
“Bravo 1, this is Bravo 5, do you read me?”

Static was his only reply, and Brock sighed, frustrated. He looked at Full Metal and shook his head. 

“Nothing!” he yelled over the tat-tat-tat of the machine gun currently tearing holes in the trucks they were hiding behind. “I can’t get through! Comms are shot to hell!”

He didn’t need to be close to Metal to see the man curse.

“You go around!” Metal yelled back, quickly ejecting his clip to check it before sliding it back into its chamber. “See if you can get a line on the .50; I'll cover you!”

He nodded and assessed the environment, wincing when he realised he'd have to expose himself a fair bit to get behind the crates behind the truck, and then again to make a dash for another stack of pallets that would – hopefully – give him the opening he needed. He turned back to Metal, and waited until the man glanced his way to see if he was ready before giving him a thumbs up.

It wasn’t the full cover of someone who had ammunition to waste that was for sure - but it was enough that he could duck behind the first stack, check his surroundings and where the tangos attention laid, before sprinting for his chosen barricade.

Bullets bit the concrete millimetres behind him, but he made it without injury; although no sooner was he behind cover than he was hitting the ground when wood exploded around him.

Brock winced when his cheek suddenly felt like it was on fire. A quick touch of his fingers to the area and he found his glove wet with blood. “Ow,” he muttered, wiping his hand on his trousers before refocusing on his targets; wondering absentmindedly if he'd need stitches. _Considering I’m one of the few who's been uninjured so far and knowing my luck… probably._

Ignoring the pain, he took stock of the situation. Prone to the ground as he was, he had an excellent angle on the shooters; and while he was no Clay or Ray, he was still a damned good shot. Both of his sniper brothers’ had made the comment a time or two at the range that if he’d had more time to commit to developing his shooting, he’d easily be on par with them. While it wasn’t anything he’d actively pursue in the foreseeable future – not when he spent so much time training Cerb and helping train the newer working dogs – it was nice to know. 

With his angle, and his skill, he knew eliminating these targets wouldn’t be an issue. 

The .50cal hadn’t stopped as it was currently tearing apart everything near to where he lay. The gunman on the left dropped suddenly – Metal had evidently managed to sneak a shot in with the tangos attention elsewhere - and now it was up to Brock to take out the last two. 

Scope pressed to his eye, Brock slid the barrel of his rifle between a gap in the pallets and lined up his shot on the guy on the gun; aiming for the chest area and tapping twice in quick succession. He didn’t pause to acknowledge his success, save for a brief glance to confirm his kill, before turning to the last target. The man was moving for the .50; his expression panicked when he realised he was the only one left.

Ensuring his target was within his cross hairs, Brock waited until the man was on the bed of the truck - and a single shot had the tango toppling with a bullet in his head. 

Silence rang out once again, almost as deafening as the constant report of guns. Pushing to his feet, Brock had to grab onto the sad remnants of his wooden defence when dizziness washed over him.

He hadn’t thought he’d lost that much blood – it was a cheek wound, after all - but it had to be enough if it was affecting him this quickly.

“Brock! You good?” Blinking away the spots dancing in front of his eyes, Brock headed for the trucks.

“That was some nice shooting,” Metal said as he appeared, the impressed look he was sporting quickly changing to visible blanching when he got a look at him. “Shit, let me take a look.” 

Waving the man off, he headed for the .50cal, mentally calculating how much time his brother’s might need and just how much trouble he and Metal could get into in the meantime if anyone else turned up. “It’ll be fine; looks worse than it is.” 

“I don’t think you’d be saying that if you could see yourself,” Metal countered, before looking at him pointedly. “Besides, I’m not going to let Trent tear me a new asshole for not checking.” 

He had him there. Trent on the warpath about ignored or undisclosed injuries was probably one of the few things Brock was truly terrified of. It didn’t mean he didn’t try and get away with anything he thought unimportant on the odd occasion – but Venezuela had tested all of them; and he figured a stubborn brother could easily push Trent over the proverbial edge.

With a sigh, he relented; allowing Metal to grip his chin and tilt his face to the side as he examined the cut. Then the bastard had to go and poke it, and he withdrew with a pained grunt.

“It’s deep, and will definitely need stitches, but I think you’ll live.” 

Brock rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks Doc.” He looked around, doing a visual stocktake on what remained. While it wasn’t amazing, it was more than they'd arrived with, which was a start. “We need to stock pile these guns. We’ve got no idea what’s going on in that building but we can’t help them with no ammo.”

It was as though someone was waiting for him to speak. No sooner had the words left his mouth, than part of the roof blew into the sky in a cloud of acrid black smoke and concrete.

Staring at the building, Brock was pretty certain the dread that was settling in his gut like a lead weight was swiftly hitting Metal at the same time. But they didn’t even make it a step before a squeal of tires at the end of the lot on the other side of the building announced the arrival of the next wave.

“I make three vehicles,” Metal told him, confirming what he’d already seen. Then the man swore colourfully. “Middle truck has another .50 mounted in the bed.”

Shit. 

“Guess it’s going to be down to who’s more efficient on the gun then,” he replied. “Us or them.” He was already heading for theirs; his leaner stature making him less of a target than his Alpha-turned-Bravo team mate. 

Metal nodded, stripping the bodies of any weapons and magazines and stockpiling a few within easy reach in the truck bed before taking the rest to his own defensive position. “We need to deal with this lot quickly and get in that building. The boys may need our help.”

“That’s assuming there’s anyone left to rescue.”

“The others will have survived that blast because they’re stubborn assholes, you know that,” Metal retorted, grinning. They both ducked when bullets sprayed the walls behind them – missing them by miles. Sharing a look, Metal cocked the rifle he held. “But these guys? They just don’t give up, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” he replied, cocking the .50 and training it on the first truck. “Let’s go hunting.” 


	2. The Outcome Rests On The Flip Of A Coin

**A/N: welcome back my friends! I'm glad to see you enjoyed the first chapter, so hopefully this one is just as enjoyable for you :D**

**One thing this story will address is Full Metal's presence - because, I'm not going to lie, I've been thoroughly confused with his apparently permanent placement on the team. In the words of the infinite Mushu "he popped out of the snow, like daisies!" Don't get me wrong, I love his addition to the team (and his ribbing of Brock in last weeks episode, further reaffirming their teamwork together) but when I first clued in my response was 'mmmmmmkaaaay?' I'm tempted to tweet the writers and ask them for an explanation. Got nothing to lose I guess!**

**Also randomly, as I'm a kiwi; measurements and spelling will differ for many of you because in New Zealand we use the British spelling and measurements, not American. However Word and AO3 also have differing opinions so my spelling will likely use both variations of certain words, purely for the fact I've given up trying to correct both systems.**

**Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this chapter - let me know what you think!**

**Special shout out to[ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 14 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

Jason sat up with a groan, his body protesting the sudden movement after hitting the floor heavily. He coughed once, expelling the cloud of dust he’d apparently inhaled and looked around. 

The air was hazy and slightly suffocating, courtesy of the mortar particles still drifting around them. The force of the explosion had been stronger than he’d expected; the original grenade had set off the others on the tango’s belt and – with a quick glance upwards – blown a massive hole in the roof. 

Despite the crater above them, the section of the warehouse they were in was barely affected – the area large enough they could skirt around the debris with minimal fuss. The size of the damage was impressive though. 

A pained grunt came from somewhere to his left, and Jason glanced over as he pushed himself to his feet. “Bravo, sound off.” 

Some of the responses were a little slower than the others, but everyone reported as instructed – and all with little more than bumps and bruises and a healthy coating of dust. 

“Well that was impressive,” Sonny commented dryly once they’d all regrouped; everyone’s black tac gear significantly whiter than when they’d entered the building. “Pretty certain everyone in this city saw that.” 

“Probably,” he agreed, “which is why we need to get moving.” 

“Do you think that brought Brock and Metal running?” Clay asked. Jason didn’t even have time to answer before gunfire erupted outside. 

“They got the .50,” Vic replied from where he’d hurried over the window to assess the situation. “Even if they wanted to help, they can’t. There’s at least two extra trucks from what I can see.” 

That wasn’t good. That _really_ wasn’t good. Even with the addition of the .50cal, Brock and Metal were still two men and the only thing that stood between them and any new hostiles. If they didn’t move quickly, there was every chance his brothers could be overrun. “Alright we need to get moving; we’re running out of time to get to the evac point and I don’t want Brock and Metal by themselves any longer than they have to be. As soon as we find the doc, we’re outta here.” 

There was a chorus of copies, and they started moving again – quicker now with the dwindling time limit. Three more rooms were cleared in quick succession, before Sonny paused in the doorway of the fourth and whistled. 

“Hey Bossman – I think we just hit the jackpot.” 

After clearing his own area, Jason joined the Texan, the others close behind, and they all looked on impressed. 

A large weapons cache was in the room; crate upon crate of ammunition, guns, grenades… anything one could possibly need was here. There were computers, maps... hell, even a box of army issued compasses. The room was fully equipped, which was more than a little worrying; and spoke volumes of just how dedicated their enemy was. He opened the box closest to him, and shook his head in disbelief at the filled-to-the-brim crate of C4. 

“There’s enough ammo here to supply a small army,” Trent muttered, showing them the box overflowing with bullets that were waiting to be loaded into magazines. “Where the hell did they get all this?” 

“How much you wanna bet this is the home base of whoever’s after us?” Sonny replied. 

“If this is their home base, we need to warn Brock and Metal,” Ray said, looking at him worriedly. “They could be sitting ducks out there if this warehouse is exactly what it looks like.” 

Nodding whilst blocking out the worry gnawing at his gut, he activated his radio. “Bravo 5, do you copy?” When static was all he got back, Jason ground his teeth. Something wasn’t right here; no way was this regular interference. “Metal, this is 1 – you read me?” He kicked an empty crate when he got nothing yet again. “Fuck sakes, what is up with these comms?!” 

“If this is their home base, it might not be too far-fetched that they have jammers active. They coulda turned them on the moment they saw us arrive,” Vic suggested, and Jason nearly groaned aloud when he realised it was well within the realm of possibility. Fuck. 

“Kid’s right Jase,” Ray added, looking equally frustrated. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Explains why we haven’t heard from HAVOC, either.” 

“Vic gets a case when we get stateside,” he agreed tiredly. “Good thinking.” 

“If there’s jammers in place, shouldn’t one of us go back and check on them?” Clay asked. “Warn them about what we found and what could be coming?” 

“We don’t have time,” Ray countered, looking pained. “We need to clear this building and go.” 

“But Brock and Metal -” Gunfire was heard outside again. This time it wasn’t one .50cal they could hear, but two. That _really_ wasn’t good; whatever the situation was outside, it was deteriorating. And quickly. 

The others knew it too by the looks they were giving each other. 

“Boss…” 

There were times he hated being the one in charge. It was a rare occurrence, seeing as the title of Bravo 1 was something he’d fought so hard to not give up - but the feeling still popped up from time to time. Usually it appeared when he was faced with an impossible choice; such as his brothers or the mission. Take today for example; a country calling for their blood, low on ammo, one brother dodging death’s door by some miracle with two others holding a precarious defensive line for them while they carried out a rescue. 

Any other time or place and he knew without a doubt that his brothers would think their task a walk in the park. So would he. But this was Venezuela; and they’d walked into this rescue mission with a tragic amount of ammo and beyond laughable communications. Securing the mounted machine gun was a minor victory – because that only last as long as the bullets did.

So he was faced with three choices; scrub the mission entirely and get his team home safely, split the team even further to check on (and likely help) Brock and Full Metal – and in the process limit the number of people searching for the doc which would make this whole thing drag on _longer_ – thereby risking their chances of making it to the evac point at all, or continue as they had been – hitting every room as fast as possible while trusting Brock and Metal to do whatever they had too to get the job done. 

It killed him to think it, but there was no choice. He just hoped the pair had enough ammo to hold out until they got there. 

“Much as I hate it, we need to deal with this quickly,” he told them, ignoring the unhappy looks on his teammate’s faces. “The boys will just have to hold on a little longer. Grab everything you can, bag any extra. Clear the rooms quick; we’re not staying.” 

Everyone split off to do as instructed, and Jason was more than relieved to find magazine clips already loaded with bullets that’d fit their guns. Suddenly, their tenuous situation looked like the outcome could be a hell of a lot brighter. 

Restocked, they headed deeper into the building. “Man, this whole situation stinks,” Sonny grumbled as they approached the next section of rooms. “Them boys against an army, with nuthin’ to defend themselves.” 

“No choice, Sonny,” he reminded the Texan shortly. “They’ve got a job to do, now we need to do ours. Clay, Sonny – take the room on the left. Trent, Vic; you’ve got the one on the right – Ray and I will take this one.” 

There was a chorus of ‘roger’ and ‘copy’ as they split off; each pair moving through the rooms quickly and eliminating the few hostiles that remained. 

Jason was so caught up in the flow, he nearly shot the man in the chair before registering he was tied up. The terror in the man’s eyes when he pointed the gun his way was the only thing that kept him alive. “Dr Craig?” 

The man nodded desperately, and despite the hefty amount of blood and bruises, he was alert. Which also meant he’d be able to operate under his own power when escaping. After yanking the gag out, Jason went to work on the rope binding Craig to the chair. 

“Thank you,” the Doc said, his voice wavering but strong. “Thank you for coming for me.” 

“We don’t leave people behind,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder and nodding in confirmation when Ray entered the room. “We don’t have much time – can you stand?”

Craig stood with a wince, but nodded. No sooner had he turned to tell Ray to round up the others, than Craig was grabbing his arm. “We can’t leave yet,” the man told him, and it took everything in Jason’s power not to snarl. “We have to help the others.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said through gritted teeth, just as Ray asked: “What others? Who are they and how many?” 

“Five others, all American doctors. They’ve been held hostage longer than I have; the plan is to ship them overseas later today.” 

“We don’t have time for this,” he told Ray, knowing the man well enough to know exactly where his priorities were.” Get him, get out – that’s the mission.” 

“We don’t leave people behind, Jase; you said it yourself,” Ray countered, his expression imploring. “We leave these doctors behind, they become multiple rescue missions from AQ territory later on. For once I’d like to be able to prevent a mission, instead of going on one.” 

Exhaling heavily, Jason turned away. He knew Ray was right – but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Thankfully, a yell of his name from Clay had him turning; and for the first time since they’d gotten off the plane it appeared something was going their way. 

Trailing behind the remainder of his team were a group of disheveled, malnourished, banged up but mobile individuals. Five of them. 

“Well would you look at that,” Ray said, amazed. It was evident he thought he’d have to fight Jason to save them. 

“Alright, we’re leaving. Now.” Unclipping his Winchester, he showed it to Craig. “Mandy taught you how to shoot before planting you, yeah?” 

The man swallowed, taking the gun gingerly. “She did, yes.” 

“Good.” He turned to the others, assessing the situation before turning to their exit. “Everyone partner up with a hostage during exfil; Ray, Sonny you’re rear security. Docs, stick close to your operator; we’re taking you home. Craig, you’re with me.” 

“Understood.” 

“Alright, let’s move.” 

The warehouse remained empty as they hurried back towards their original breach point; a relief considering Jason had expected heavy resistance somewhere during their exit. They were about to descend to the ground floor when he heard faint yelling, so he raised his hand and waited. Everyone froze behind him, utterly silent save for the panicked breathing of several hostages. 

“I don’t hear any gunfire,” Sonny said after a moment where nothing further was heard. “No more yelling, neither.” 

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Clay added softly, and Jason glanced at his younger brother. He was right; neither voice sounded like his two brothers - and if it was them they wouldn’t have yelled for no reason. 

“Change of plans. Ray, you and Clay go high – I want you in windows overlooking the courtyard. The rest of you proceed as though it’s ops normal. If something _is_ wrong, I don’t want to tip these guys off.” 

There was a brief shuffle of bodies as his sniper duo split away from the stairwell in search of overwatch positions. With Trent beside him and Vic and Sonny at the rear they continued downwards. 

* * *

The ground floor was empty, save for the three bodies, which put them in the shadow of the doorway moments later. “Okay,” he breathed, nodding at Trent who immediately slipped out into the open. Turning to the doctors, he gave them what he hoped was a reassuring look. “Single file, and stay close. If we tell you to do something, do it immediately; understood?” The six nodded, and with a final fortifying breath, he was on Trent’s heels. 

Angling for the crates, they moved as a group for the carpark; still encountering no hostiles. Just as he thought they might have pulled this whole thing off; Trent’s barely stifled gasp shattered that hope. He held out a hand, and the doctors froze. A murmured word from Sonny had them drawing back to cover, with Vic placed in front of them as protection. Jason edged out around Trent, who was holding his rifle in a white-knuckled grip, and felt his heart seize in his chest. 

The scene was a peaceful one, all things considered. There was no firefight, no screams of the dying. Those that were dead lay where they fell, and in the center was a group of five men; four standing in a line with the leader in the bed of a truck behind them. 

Slumped on their knees - bound, beaten, bloody and barely conscious, were Brock and Metal. The pair had been stripped of their tac vests and left in just their cargo pants and skivvies; neither piece of clothing doing much to hide the frankly alarming amount of blood they were both covered in. 

Two men apiece had them; one holding his brothers up by their hair, whilst the second held the muzzle of a gun to their heads. 

A quick glance around showed a force of twenty, maybe thirty dead; and the truck that had the .50cal he assumed Vic had seen their boys using was blown to hell. If there was one thing he could say, it was that neither Bravo 5 nor 8 had gone down without a fight. 

The moment the hostiles spotted them, both SEALs were pulled upright by their hair and their faces exposed to their team. Jason refused to linger on the most visible injuries; the way one of Brock’s eyes was swollen shut, with the other barely open and a deep cut on his cheek, nor on how amongst the mottled, quickly swelling flesh of his face Full Metal had a large, weeping gash dissecting his left eyebrow; the wound running worryingly close to his eye. 

Both men saw them, but whether they were with it enough to register their presence or not was another matter entirely. 

“Greetings!” the leader called, his arms open wide and a malicious smile on his face as he, Trent and Sonny edged forwards. Just enough so they were in a line with plenty of opportunity to run for cover if needed. “Welcome foreigners, to Venezuela. I trust you’ve enjoyed your stay?” 

“The crab cakes could’ve been a little better,” Sonny called back, coming to a halt five meters to Jason’s left. A quick glance showed him that Trent was the same distance on his right. “The service too. Thought it was a bit average, personally.” 

“A pity,” the man replied, not losing his smile or his conversational tone. “If only we’d been told you were coming, we would have put on a warmer welcome.” 

“Your welcoming committee was fine,” he cut in, lowering his rifle just enough so he could make eye contact with the man. “But you’ll hear no complaints from us. If you’d be so kind as to release my friends, we’ll be on our way.” 

“Oh, no – I can’t do that,” was the response. “These men were enjoying our hospitality far too much for me to say goodbye so soon.” There was no signal, but the man holding the rifle to Brock slammed the butt of his gun into the back of Bravo 5’s skull; and Jason barely managed to avoid flinching at the sickening crack. 

If it hadn’t been for the hand fisted in his hair, Brock would have toppled to the ground from the force of the blow. 

Trent wasn’t nearly as restrained; Bravo 4’s anger evident by his fidgeting and flexing of his fingers on his gun. 

“Let them go,” he ordered, dropping all pretenses. “Now.” 

The man dropped his arms, his smile turning into a smirk. “I don’t think so. You come into _my_ county, you kill _my_ people; no no no. You don’t get to make the orders here.” 

“You attacked us first,” he replied, praying his overwatch was in position. Wherever those jammers had been, they hadn’t found them – which meant he wouldn’t hear any warning from either sniper if they planned to act. “We should have been in and out, no bloodshed, to get what was ours without problem. Instead your whole country came after us. We defended ourselves – nothing more.” 

“You trespassed -” 

“Trespassed on what, exactly?” Sonny interrupted, his face barely shifting a centimeter from his scope. “This hellhole? Little buddy, in case you hadn’t noticed, this country of yours is falling to pieces – instead of doing something about that, you’re here holding two of our men. Seems to me you don’t give two shits about your country.” 

A blow was delivered to the back of Metal’s head this time; and Jason found his snarl slipping out faster than he could control it. The man holding Bravo 8 by the hair evidently hadn’t had a good grip – or had deliberately let go - because Metal hit the ground; unable to use his bound-behind-his-back arms to break his fall and hit the concrete with a heavy thud. 

When Full Metal was pulled upright again, his nose was pouring with blood, and he had a nasty gravel rash on the left side of his face. 

“Whoops,” the man who was holding Bravo 8 said, voice bored despite his smirk. “He party too hard here.” 

“You’re gunna pay for that,” Sonny growled, but he didn’t move or break position. 

“Trespassers get dealt with the same way as criminals,” the leader snarled, his words dripping malice. “In case you do not know how, we will show you.” 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. His two teammates - his _brothers_ – were about to be assassinated in front of him. If they didn’t act, if they were too slow, Jason knew that the deaths of Bravo 5 and 8 would be what broke him for good. 

After Nate, after the pain and the anger of his friend dying in such a preventable way had lessened he’d thought he’d be okay – that he’d continue on as normal. But he didn’t. Something had changed in him with that loss; something profound that had him checking each of his men closely after every fight to ensure none of them were coming home in a body bag. 

Clay’s injuries in the Philippines had sent him spiraling down the path of revenge, something they’d gotten with satisfying results, but the depth of his anger and fear during that time had surprised him. Reacting as strongly as he did to something that had been beyond his control, he was terrified of how he’d react if he lost either, or both, of these men when he had a chance to save them. 

Because their deaths would be on him. He’d posted them here and he’d refused to send them help for fear of getting anyone else killed. As it was, every injury his brothers had suffered was his fault, and if this situation played out how it looked like it would, their deaths would be on his hands, and his hands alone. 

The thought of not having Full Metal around; to not have the man there to discuss things only a SEAL leader could understand was gut wrenching. Because not only was the man one of his best friends, but he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place – a part of their team because of circumstance and Jason’s own selfishness. If Full Metal was on Bravo where he could keep an eye on him, then the chance of losing him on a mission because of someone else’s carelessness was minimal. 

The thought of losing Full Metal was gut wrenching, but the mere idea of Brock no longer being on his team and in his life was devastating. 

Brock was quiet, a silent yet lethal shadow; always lingering in the back and supporting the team, rather than his own interests or agenda. But when Brock spoke, he listened. Every time. The man had an uncanny ability to see things others didn’t, and he was right every time regardless of the situation. His brother was also one he relied heavily on, even if the man himself didn’t know it; his constant presence and agreement to ideas one of the biggest factors that decided whether they’d carry out a mission. If Brock’s expression revealed he didn’t like it, or looked uncertain about particular areas, then Jason would rehash the plan again and again under the guise of not liking their solution until he could see Bravo 5 was convinced.

Because if Brock was convinced then there was every likelihood that they’d succeed. 

It was something Ray had picked up on since Brock’s selection to their unit, and his second had fallen into a similar pattern. Brock didn’t realise just how much their team needed him, and just how much his death would destroy them should such a situation come to pass. 

He _couldn’t_ let that situation come to pass now. But the decision was out of his control.

Time was moving slowly as he watched the end approach for his brothers; which is why when the two gunmen dropped with holes blown into their heads he, Sonny and Trent eliminated the remaining three without thinking. 

He almost didn’t realise what had happened until Sonny and Trent were sprinting for their fallen brothers, calling for the pair even as they reached them. 

“Vic,” he yelled over his shoulder as he convinced his feet to start moving. “All clear!” 

Without waiting to hear a response, Jason hurried to Trent’s side where the man was carefully slicing through Brock’s bonds so he could lay him on his back unimpeded. Sonny was doing the same for Metal. 

“What have we got?” 

Trent didn’t reply, but was cursing under his breath as he peeled Brock’s shirt up his torso, the fabric heavy with blood. “Multiple GSW’s,” he muttered, examining first the wound that looked as though a stray bullet had gotten lucky with Brock’s left side before poking around at his right shoulder and leg. “Fractured ribs, which is likely down to rounds in the chest plate -” There were about five impact points Jason could see, each blooming a sickening shade of dark blue. “There’s a gash on his forehead as well as his cheek, not to mention the blow to the head he just took – His abdomen feels strange so I can’t rule out internal bleeding, and the head injuries mean I can’t eliminate swelling or severe concussion until he wakes, either.” 

There was the sound of footsteps hurrying to them, and Jason glanced over his shoulder to see Clay and Ray sprinting across the lot, with Vic and the doctors nearly upon them. 

“Vic, check these guys over for any severe injuries I should know about - Ray, Sonny, Clay; secure the trucks then start loading,” he ordered. “If the truck with the .50cal still goes, I want that as extra security for us. Trent and I will take Brock and Full Metal, Vic and Ray you take three of the doctors, Sonny and Clay take the rest.” 

“I’d like to come with you,” Dr Craig said, stepping around Vic and heading for Trent. “I can help your man with your injured so you can focus on driving.” 

He nodded, watching for a moment as the others split to do their respective tasks before turning back to the two medics. 

“Multiple GSW’s” Trent was saying as he looked Full Metal over, with Dr Craig nodding his confirmation. “Internal bleeding, likely due to the round he took to the side. A nasty facial cut which has missed his eye – just. Multiple rounds to the chest plate too; so I can’t rule out fractured ribs for him either and whatever head injury those assholes just gave him.” 

“What does that mean, Trent?” he asked, ears pricking to the sound of multiple vehicles starting. 

“It means your men are in bad shape,” Dr Craig replied. “They need help, and quickly.” 

“Boss!” Sonny yelled. “Transport’s rearing to go!” 

“Drop the back seat in our truck Sonny!” Trent yelled back, motioning for Jason to grab Metal’s legs to help him move the downed SEAL. “Sitting up is going to be impossible for these two!” 

“Roger!” 

Craig stayed with Brock, checking the man over as he and Trent quickly but carefully carried their patient to the waiting truck; Sonny in the back with the rear open so they could slide Full Metal in easier. With the man settled, Trent nodded Jason to Brock; already grabbing the first aid kit they’d brought with them. “Get one of the others to help bring Brock over – I can’t leave either of them unattended long enough to help.” 

Giving Trent a thumbs up, he headed back to his fallen brother. “Clay! Give me a hand!” 

“I can do it,” Dr Craig told him, but Jason firmly yet gently moved the man to the side. 

“You were a hostage not even twenty minutes ago,” he reminded him. “You might feel fine but I can’t risk any further harm coming to him.” Clay joined them moments later, and the blond slid his arms behind Brock’s back in preparation to lift. “Go join Trent, we’re gone as soon as everyone’s in.” 

Craig ran for the truck, and Jason carefully grabbed Bravo 5’s legs; giving Clay a count of three before they both lifted and began to move. 

“Are they going to be okay?” Clay asked him, his expression carefully blank; which told Jason more than words could. His youngest brother was reeling; but whether it was from shock, fear or worry he didn’t know. “Boss?” 

“I dunno, kid,” he replied honestly, wishing someone could give him that answer. “They’re strong, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” 

The answer wasn’t enough to appease the kid, but Jason was relieved he didn’t say or question anything further. They got Brock to the truck without any issues – Jason tried desperately to ignore how much of a dead weight the SEAL felt in his arms – before Brock was in and secured. 

“Hang in there, Broccoli,” Clay muttered to his brother, giving the unresponsive SEAL’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “We got you.”

“Let’s get out of here boys!” he yelled, watching as the others clambered into their vehicles, with Sonny on the .50 before he jumped into the driver’s seat. It was time to go home. 

Thank fuck for that.


	3. Fighting For Your Family

**A/N: Naw you guys, your comments are amazing! Here's me (stupidly) thinking this would be a one-shot kind of story, then I put it over two chapters saying to myself "it'll be three, max!" Ha. I lied to myself. Yet again. This happens so much it's not funny anymore. I don't know how to create limits apparently - my brain and I have continuous disagreements over story lengths. Yeesh.**

**All I can say about this chapter... is that it wrote itself. Like seriously, we went places I was not expecting to go with this. A smidgen of character study for a few of the boys for story purposes as intended, this was not. Damn it. Oh well, I hope you enjoy learning about them like I did; I was most fascinated with their backgrounds!** **Also, please note that I am not a medical professional. However, I have tried to make this as authentic as possible. Some parts may be embellished a bit for the story's sake. If there's anything wildly wrong, please let me know! I won't change it here, but it'll be good knowledge for next time. :D**

**Just to reiterate, Brock and Metal are the only two who will be physically injured. But that's not to say there won't be some angst for the others!**

**Special shout out to:[my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 22 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

About a block out from the warehouse, their comms started working again; which meant they were able to get a message to HAVOC and warn them of their imminent arrival. They were only halfway to the exfil point, hurtling through the streets when they were engaged yet _again_ ; three vehicles speeding their way with men hanging out the windows and firing on them. 

_“Bravo 1, this is 2; you seeing this?”_ Ray asked him via radio. His second was leading the pack and already swerving to make himself a harder target. Not that they had much to hide behind to begin with. 

Thumbing the mic on, Jason ensured he kept as close to Ray as he could without getting right up his second’s ass. “Yeah I see them,” he replied, following the weave of the truck as they dodged bullets. “Bravo 3, get rid of these assholes.” 

_“Bravo 3 is ‘getting’,_ Sonny replied as he open-fired on the incoming vehicles. 

There was a commotion behind him, and Jason shot a quick glance to the rearview mirror to see Trent and Craig bent over Brock. “Trent?” 

“He’s seizing,” Trent replied hastily, he and Craig doing their best to keep Brock still in the limited space they had. “We need to get them to the plane yesterday, Jase. I don’t have the resources here to keep them alive if they stop breathing.” 

“All Bravo call signs, this is 1 – we need to get rid of these guys asap; the situation is deteriorating quickly for our wounded. Break. HAVOC, be advised we need the medical team and facilities ready and waiting for us; how copy?” 

_“That’s a good copy, Bravo 1,”_ Blackburn replied. “ _Medical is preparing for your arrival now.”_ There was a pause, then, _"how bad is it, Jason?”_

“Not good,” he said shortly. He didn’t bother with anything else because if he were honest, he didn’t know enough to answer that question truthfully. 

Trent cursed when their truck was hit by bullets; the roof gaining some aesthetically displeasing dents from someone’s machine gun, but thankfully no holes appeared. God bless the bullet-proofed metal. Fighting the temptation to ask what was wrong, he did his best to avoid any more hits. Why the hell hadn’t Sonny taken that asshole out already?! 

“Metal? Scott?! Shit, he’s not breathing; Craig, help me check his airways.” 

“Your other friend is seizing again!” 

“Boss, we need to hurry; we’re losing them!” 

If the situation wasn’t enough to spur him onwards, the barely concealed panic in the usually calm medic’s voice certainly was. A quick glance to the GPS, and he spotted a side road that, while slightly longer, would hopefully end up faster with the enemy vehicles behind them and unable to slow them down. 

“Ray, turn right at the next street!” He yelled into his mic, already revving the engine. “Our boys are outta time!” 

_“Copy!”_

The turn came, and all three of their vehicles slid neatly into the road; a quick glance through his mirrors showed Sonny facing the rear and the .50cal firing away. An explosion sounded, and he knew immediately from Sonny’s fist pump he’d done a good amount of damage to their tail. 

_“We’re in the clear!”_ Sonny shouted into the radio. _“Let’s get outta here boys!”_

All three vehicles floored it, and the few cars on the road quickly parted for them. Today would be one of the days where their team didn’t actively avoid civilian casualties; and based on how quickly people got out of the way, the motorists knew it. 

There was silence on the comms as the team focused on getting the hell out of dodge, but unlike the others Jason was forced to listen as the two medics in the back tried to breathe life into the dying man beneath their fingers. 

_Come on, Scott,_ he thought desperately. _Hang in there!_

_“Bravo 1, this is 6;”_ Clay’s voice crackled over the radio. _“How’re they doing?”_

_“Your smother hen tendencies in full force again, blondie?”_ Sonny asked, his reply nearly inaudible from the wind whistling through his mic. 

“ _Fuck off, Quinn -”_

“What the - Brock?” Trent’s harried question drowned out his brothers bickering. “Bro – nononono, Craig, take over for me.” There was a thump, and the truck swayed slightly as someone moved around behind him. Then he could hear it. Just. 

The soft sounds of someone trying to breathe, and failing. 

“Come on Brock; breathe buddy, just breathe!” 

It took everything Jason had to focus on the road and not let the sound of Bravo 5 slowly suffocating to death distract him. He didn’t have the hands, nor the ability to multitask long enough to consult the GPS for a final arrival time. But someone else did. “Bravo 7, this is 1. How far to the evac point?” 

_“Less than five mikes.”_ Was the response a second later. _“It’s a straight run through for us. No other roads to turn down.”_

“Trent, they gunna make that?” When there was no response except furious muttering behind him, he glanced in the mirror; blanching when he saw the scalpel in Trent’s hand and the white pallor of his face. “Trent?” 

“Fuck! Jase – I think his lung’s collapsed. A rib must’ve broken when we moved him!” 

“Are they going to make it to the LZ?” he asked again, desperately. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control, and Jason had no way to know if it was one that could be salvaged. 

“I don’t know!” Trent snapped, his panic having finally broken through. “If I can’t re-inflate his lung or he seizes again – I don’t _know_ , Jason.” 

“HAVOC, this is Bravo 1 – _tell_ me the med team’s ready to receive us.” 

_“We have more hostiles inbound!”_ Sonny interrupted, just as the trucks were hit with a hail of bullets from three new enemy vehicles; one in front and two behind. 

Jason swore as their truck was hit, but the curse was drowned out by the sound of a window in the back exploding and Trent’s furious roar. “Trent -” 

“Craig’s dead!” 

The _fuck_?! If only he had eyes in the back of his head so he didn’t have to keep taking them off the road to see what was happening! 

He shot a look to the rearview mirror _yet again_ , and found the back side window blown to hell, while Trent was busy trying to shove the doctor’s body off of Brock and Scott; the back of the man’s head matted with blood and the glassy, dead eyed stare of one whose life was taken unexpectedly. 

“Bravo 3, Bravo 7 – GET RID OF THESE TECHNICALS!” He roared into his mic, ducking when another round of bullets headed their way. “HAVOC, be advised we’ve lost Craig – I say again, Craig is down. Have the support team standing by; we’re coming in hot.” 

Trent was talking frantically behind him; but whether it was to Jason, himself, Brock, Metal or someone else – Jason had no clue. And right then, he didn’t want to know. He wished he could get in the back and help ease Trent’s heavy burden, but he couldn’t. 

All he could do was drive like his life depended on it, and hope it was enough. 

* * *

The moment Craig’s body slumped heavily across his brothers, Trent stopped registering what was happening around him. 

He’d _just_ pressed the scalpel into Brock’s chest – had just made the incision that would help him break through skin and muscle to insert a tube into the lung that had collapsed when the heavy weight of Craig’s torso crashed into him; sending the tip of the knife slicing through Brock’s chest before slipping from his hand completely. 

A second was all he could spare to register and mourn the loss of a hostage, and the set of hands that would help him keep his brothers breathing long enough to get to aid. Now it was just him, a body slumped across his patients and almost nowhere to move. Not to mention he hadn’t even accomplished the thoracotomy he’d been attempting – and his scalpel was who the fuck knew where, and contaminated beyond use. 

He watched helplessly as Brock started to shake again as the third seizure this car trip gripped his suffocating brother. The blow to the head had been as horrifying to watch as it had been sickening to listen to, the sound it made reinforcing the strength behind the swing. His comment of swelling hadn’t been one of a passing concern, but a real fear. Brock had already been severely beaten and injured by the time they got there, and at the time any signs of head trauma he might’ve already had had been hidden by his hair. But then the butt of the gun slammed down onto his skull, and any hope he’d had of his best friend walking away from this mess with only a few scars and a hell of a story to tell went out the goddamn window. 

The seizures themselves weren’t long, only ten seconds or so at most, but they’d be enough to worsen any internal damage his friend had already suffered; the extent of which he could only begin to imagine – not that he wanted to imagine. Not in the slightest. When this one ended, there was the tang of bodily fluids in the air, but the loss of control was the least of his concerns. The highest on his list was that the canine handler had a collapsed lung, which meant he wasn’t getting enough air into his body; and considering Brock’s fragile condition there was every chance his other lung could collapse if he needed to do CPR and the ribs that side pierced the delicate membranes. 

He could try re-inflate the lung again using his Ka-Bar to make the necessary incision, but with the size of the knife and way the truck was swerving wildly he was more likely to accidentally drive the blade into Brock’s chest and kill him. So no, that option was out, even though it was probably the only chance of survival Brock had.

Put simply, all he could do was watch as his best friend suffocated to death in front of him while praying they made it to the people who could help before it was too late. 

Unable to do anything more, he turned to Scott and checked the man’s pulse. Before his shitty, unfortunate end Craig had been trying to revive the SEAL, and he had no idea if he’d been successful. By some blessed, barely believable miracle, he found one. It was faint and thready as hell, but it was there – and a quick check of the airways showed that Metal was, at least for the moment, breathing under his own power. 

He felt like sobbing in relief; Craig’s last act had been to save his patient. 

A quick tilt of the head was about all he could do to ensure Metal kept breathing – although the amount of blood gathered in the man’s sinuses from his sudden union with the concrete was going to be a cause for concern if it wasn’t cleared quickly. He recalled the fractured ribs Metal had also had when he’d first examined him, and so he palpitated Scott’s chest, knowing full well what he’d find. 

Sure enough, there they were; broken ribs. At least three had snapped during his resuscitation. The fact his lungs hadn’t yet collapsed was some minor miracle on its own. 

Satisfied the man wasn’t in any immediate danger, he turned back to Brock and wanted to scream his helplessness when he saw the purple tinge of his lips; heard the fading, flickering gasps for air. His best friend was dying, and all he could do was sit and watch. 

He knew palpitating Brock’s chest wouldn’t solve anything, but he did it anyway; finding broken ribs that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His eye caught the body that was stuffed down the back and out of the way, and realised that the breaks had likely been caused by Craig himself; the momentum of the bullet propelling his body forward onto the two wounded SEALs and onto the one area they couldn’t afford any more damage. 

Neither brother had needed that on top of everything else. 

So caught up as he was in trying to keep his brothers alive, the hand that landed on his shoulder made turn quickly, a startled yell falling from his lips. 

For one awful second, he thought he’d gotten it wrong; that Dr Craig had in fact survived and he’d just written the man off without bothering to check in favour of the others. 

But then Jason was there, and Clay, and the support team just behind them. Ray and Vic were already loading Craig’s body onto a stretcher and _how the hell had they taken it without him noticing?!,_ while Sonny ushered the other hostages towards the plane. 

“Trent,” Clay’s tentative call of his name had his attention snapping to the blond from where it had wandered. “Trent, you need to move; we need to get them out.” 

It was then he registered the two stretchers with the medics, their support team fidgeting impatiently to get to their charges. With a nod he’d hoped would be calm but knew was probably jerky and stunned, he shuffled backwards; Jason’s hand that had landed on his shoulder to draw his attention now cupping it and guiding him from the back of the vehicle. 

The second he was clear, the medics swarmed in; their rapid fire talking as they dragged first Brock, then Scott from the truck helping to ground him, helping to drive home the fact that they’d made it. A quick glance around revealed two smoldering wrecks further down the road; with several of their support team packing away RPG’s. 

Ah. So they’d blown the vehicles sky high the moment they were clear, then. A messy, but effective way of removing their enemy. 

“-ent. Trent!” 

Jason was in his face then, a hand on his shoulder and stress tugging at his eyes. He shook his head to clear it. Man, he must really be out of it if he kept missing people calling his name. 

“Trent, the docs need you; they need to know what they’re dealing with!” 

Glancing down, Trent realised his hands were covered in blood. His _brothers_ blood. Brock, and Scott – the two he’d been so desperate to save. 

That was all the reminder he needed to refocus his mind, to drag himself away from the stunned, worried bystander funk he’d somehow fallen into to the calm, methodical tier one operator he was. With a nod, he ran to the plane, up the ramp and towards the shouting only medical personnel were good at. 

His brothers were dying. But now? Now they were going to live. He’d make sure of it. 

* * *

Trent’s sudden departure left Jason reeling, if only because trying to snap Bravo 4 out of the dark of his own mind had been his sole mission now they’d arrived at the evac point. 

He’d delivered his men to their extract. He’d delivered his wounded to medical aid. And now he had nothing left to do except get his team on the plane and the hell out of Venezuela. 

And by god, if he saw this hell forsaken country again anytime between now and his death bed, he’d throw a goddamn fit. 

Checking the vehicles for any gear they might need or had left behind, and finding nothing of great importance – he resolutely ignored the large bloodstains in the back of his own truck - he turned to the support guys who’d just finished dropping a couple of C4 bricks into each of the vehicles, and nodded.

“Blow it.” 

“With pleasure, sir,” was the response; his tier three operatives more than ready to blow any evidence of their presence to hell. 

Turning on his heel, he strode up the ramp; eyes picking out each of his team as he did his usual head count. 

Ray was there, sitting in one of the jump seats and shooting glances towards the curtained off section of the plane, someone’s tac vest on his lap and a cleaning cloth in his hands. Vic was beside him cleaning his rifle, and while his fingers and motions were present, his mind was not; the thousand yard stare evident in his dark eyes. Jason didn’t miss the way his head was tilted, ensuring he heard every little thing that happened in the med bay. 

Sonny was closer towards the front, a can of beer already in his hands and a dark expression on his face. A large drag was taken before the can was set down, then the Texan started alternating between flexing his hands and rubbing his knuckles; a tick that was the only evidence of the stress his brother was feeling. 

There was a frustrated curse from behind the curtains, followed by a desperately whispered ‘ _breathe Brock, please just breathe!’_ from Trent that had Sonny gripping his seat, his head bowed and his knuckles turning white. 

Trent’s plaintive encouragement had everyone freezing, eyes drawn to the curtains that hid the medical personnel and the downed SEALs from view. A minor disturbance behind him made him turn, and Jason watched as the doctors they’d just rescued pushed away the people tending to them to head up the front; parting the cloth barricade so they could step in and help if needed. 

Even when they’d been through hell, their need to help others won out. 

Unfortunately, as the doctors moved through they were all given a good view of the two gurneys; and a wounded noise escaped him at the glimpse he was given. 

Full Metal surrounded by wires; hooked up to a defibrillator that would ensure his heart remained beating while one of the medics prepared a syringe and a rescued doctor checked his vitals. 

Brock; with a tube sticking out of both sides of his chest he also had a resus bag over his mouth – Trent squeezing methodically while the heart rate monitor showed a flat line. 

Their eyes met; just a brief glance before the curtain slid back into place and locked them out once again. He buried his hands in his hair, tugging at the strands and using the pain to help ground himself. They were losing Brock. 

This couldn’t be happening. _Please don’t let this be happening. I can’t_ _do this again._

Clay came to a standstill beside him, the kid’s expression utterly lost; his eyes fixed on the area where his brothers lay. 

“We’re going to lose him. Aren’t we?” 

He wrapped an arm around Clay’s shoulder and drew him in; the contact as much comfort for his little brother as it was for himself. Because Brock’s relationship with Clay, like his individual relationship with them all, was special. Unique. 

Where Clay and Sonny could drink until their veins were filled with more booze than blood, or Clay and Ray would hit the range for hours trying to out-do one another, Brock and Clay spent their time together in the outdoors. 

During the team's downtime he’d often get a text or a phone call from one of them explaining they were out and about again; like going on some stupidly long hike that made Jason cringe at the distance his energizer-bunnies-for-brothers chose to do – the thought of doing that for fun was about as low on his ‘things Jason and normal people enjoy’ list as it could possibly get.

Said hikes usually resulted in a visit from Trent with ice packs for cramped muscles, Ray for the general ‘glad to see you’re still alive’ check, Sonny’s ‘ _how in the hell_ _are you still alive after being in nature for that long?!_ ’ check, Vic’s ‘I’m very confused but Ray dragged me here so… ta-da?’ general presentness and Jason with takeout and his usual air of suffering because ‘ _we may or may not have decided to bet a case of beer on who would win the 10km run back to the car’_ quickly followed by, _‘I’m so hungry, Jase - but I can’t move. If I don’t eat I’ll waste away to nothing!’_

One such particular overnight hike had resulted in Sonny commandeering wheelchairs for them from medical just so they didn’t have to walk the two hundred or so meters from their cars to a mission planning session, they were that sore. 

Of course, that then resulted in a wheelchair race to said briefing - which ended with two fractured fingers and a badly bruised wrist for Clay, and a knee that didn’t know what colour it wanted to be combined with a lovely row of ten stitches on the head for Brock after trying to beat each other around a sharp corner in the hallway. Sonny had nearly laughed himself sick at the pair after making sure they were still breathing, Trent had smacked them with ice packs and bandages – definitely harder than necessary – Vic caught the whole thing on camera as ‘evidence for later’ and Jason and Ray alternated between scolding and not laughing at the pair outright. 

Blackburn had just shaken his head and looked to the ceiling before advising them that as the mission hadn’t required them all, he now had his volunteers for who would stay behind. 

Clay and Brock were not amused. Jason was just glad for the break. 

Other times, Brock would be showing Clay the ropes on how to train Cerberus; teaching him the theory as well as the practical on training an active military dog. Or they’d be down at the race track; Brock’s background in racing as a child one of the reasons he often found himself as a driver who had a somewhat worrying love for fast cars – and an even greater worrying streak for handling said cars to near NASCAR standards. Or they’d be down at the range having a friendly competition with a variety of weapons, all the while Clay helped hone Brock’s already impressive skill with a gun. 

Clay didn’t trust many people outside of Bravo. But he’d found a kindred spirit in Brock for his competitiveness, need for adventure and general tomfoolery. They could be as bad as each other, which was why they were so close. 

Which was also why Clay was so clearly struggling to come to terms with the situation they were in. 

“Brock’s as stubborn as you are,” he replied, voice soft but firm in his conviction. “He’ll pull through this. If only to laugh at the rest of us for worrying about him.” He had to. Jason would drag him back by his bloody hair if he had to. 

The blond nodded before dropping into the seat beside Sonny, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands so as to better keep watch. Eric sidled up to him just then, and he opened his mouth to argue being taken away from where he should be – but the look Blackburn gave him forced his mouth shut with a click, and he followed him to the command post they’d set up. 

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Blackburn said quietly the moment they were out of earshot. “But Brass is breathing down my neck on this one. They want to know how a CIA asset ended up dead on our watch. I’m not asking for an AAR; god knows you boys don’t have your heads in the game for that right this second – but I need to give them something.” 

Mandy and Lisa, who had been lingering nearby moved closer to listen. They’d been the ones on the other end of the radio, relaying intel to the relevant people – and the intel until several minutes before their rendezvous with HAVOC had said that the doctor was alive. 

“The doc was alive when we loaded the trucks,” he replied, his voice clipped and not allowing room for questions. He didn’t have the time or brainpower to deal with those right now. “Craig was with Trent and I, helping to tend to Brock and Metal. We had three technicals on our tails; Sonny blew them to hell. Then three other technicals arrived out of nowhere. They all had .50cal’s mounted on the backs of their trucks; a bullet shattered the back window, hit Craig in the head. The man died a hero, far as I’m concerned – he helped keep our boys breathing. Put himself back in the line of fire so soon after being rescued because he wanted to help.” 

Blackburn sighed heavily, and nodded. “I’ll let them know.” He looked Jason over, before glancing into the belly of the plane. “Are the rest of you okay?” 

“No, Eric. We’re not. Two of our brothers are bleeding out on their tables – and for what?” 

“Jason,” Mandy said quietly, but he raised his hand to silence her. 

"Just… don’t, Mandy. Not right now.” 

But she didn’t listen, her expression turning pleading in her effort to get him to understand. “We _had_ to save him, Jason! He was a CIA asset in an extremely hostile environment; an environment he tried to escape _days_ ago. We owed it to him to get him out of there!” 

His temper flared, white hot and molten. How _dare_ she try and pin this on him! On _them! “_ No, you wanted to save him to spare your conscience, Mandy, you said it yourself. And because of that two of my men are currently fighting for their lives. Was the trade-off really worth it?”

Mandy took a step back, stunned at the vehemence in his voice. “How can you say that? We save everyone we can, Jason. That’s how we’ve always worked! You rescued six hostages – you _saved_ five lives from being sold to Hezbollah clutches!” 

“We were in a situation right from the start we should _never_ have been in!” he countered furiously, dimly aware of Ray lingering nearby. Their quiet conversation must not’ve been as quiet as he’d believed. “We had no resources, no ISR - no _comms_ for christs sake! We were completely blind when we went after him; and all because you had an attack of the morals. Yeah, so those doctors would have been in AQ territory – but at least they would have been kept alive because they were useful. _We could have rescued them when we were better equipped and prepared!_ Instead we mounted a rescue to get them back, and I now have two men who may not make it to see morning!” 

“Jason,” Lisa tried, but he shot her a look that silenced her immediately. 

“It’s their job, Jason,” Mandy countered, and he couldn’t help it; he took a step forward. 

Ray was there in an instant; facing the opposite direction with his shoulder pressed heavily against Jason’s in silent warning. 

“Don’t,” he snarled, lifting a finger and pointing it at her. “Don’t you _dare_ try and justify their injuries to make yourself feel better.” He needed to turn away, needed to put as much distance between them as he could to avoid completely blowing up at her. But he had one more comment to make, one more tidbit to throw in there for her. 

Because if they lost their brothers, then she needed to take full responsibility for her actions. 

“You were worried about your conscience if Craig died? Well guess what; if Brock and Metal die, that’s on you. I hope _that’s_ something you can live with instead.” 


	4. Of Memories and Prayers

**A/N: Well. Hasn't this been an interesting week for the world. I hope no matter where you guys are, you're all doing okay! This'll all blow over eventually, we just have to ride it out in the meantime.**

**As for SEAL team, the Fog of War episode was veeeeery interesting. I feel bad for Vic; I was actually starting to like him! For this story at least, he's been spared his idiotic decision and losing his brothers.**

**This chapter is a bit slower compared to the others, Ray decided he wanted the spotlight on him for character development. I figured it was best to keep this as a monster chapter to get it all out of the way (and there's still some action!) rather than split it into two!**

**I can't wait to see what you guys think!**

**Special shout out to[purplehaz97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [yuckate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 31 guests who've commented and kudosed- you guys are awesome! **

* * *

Ray waited until Jason was with the others before he turned back to a visibly upset Mandy.

“Don’t let what he said get to you,” he told her quietly. “You know how Jase gets when he’s stressed; he didn’t really mean it.”

“Didn’t he?” Mandy asked gruffly, swiping at her eyes. “Just because he’s stressed, it doesn’t make what he said untrue.”

“You know as well as I do that we’ve been on missions armed to the teeth with ammo and info, and it still hasn’t made a goddamn difference,” he reminded her firmly – he himself having suffered injuries because a plan had gone to shit. “We were all given a choice to back out; none of us did. Brock and Metal knew what they were getting into – so it was as much their call to be there as it was yours.”

When she didn’t reply, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Maybe you should wait until the boys are healed, then make a decision on whether your call was the right one or not. I doubt Brock or Scott will hold you responsible for what happened; you’re certainly not the one who pulled the trigger.”

Mandy shook her head and walked away; the guilt etched deeply on her face proving she wasn’t willing to listen to reason. “I might as well have, considering I’m the one who put them in the line of fire in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. That went well. Not. Jason and Mandy’s relationship was one he’d never understand; one minute they were on the same page, the next they were on opposite ends of the battlefield. A result of two strong personalities, he guessed; although no one else on the team had that issue with either of them – and SEALs were renowned for being stubborn assholes - so who knew.

Chewing his lip, he eventually decided that despite wanting to help his friend, trying to change Mandy’s mind was a lost cause – at least for the time being. Her CIA training in the art of manipulation meant her opinion wouldn’t be easily swayed, and he knew nothing he said right now would make a blind bit of difference. Especially if he ended up being wrong about Brock and Metal’s chances.

Lisa shrugged when he turned to her. The Ensign’s eyes still looked a bit glassy, and he wondered if he needed to send someone to tend to her again. “You good?”

“Just a bit of a headache,” she replied, her voice as tired as she looked. “I’ll be fine; Blackburn’s already threatened to frog march me to medical when we land if I don’t go voluntarily, so you don’t need to panic.” 

Raising his hands in surrender, he gave her a smile. “Alrighty then. But you should try get some sleep, you look dead on your feet.” 

“I will. Just…” her eyes shot to where everyone’s attention was focused. “Not right now.” 

“Then sit down before you fall down, Lisa.” Satisfied he’d done all he could, he gave Blackburn a nod as he passed the commander – glad he’d insisted on the shortest AAR they’d ever given when things were quiet instead of later when they could be so much worse - before regrouping with the rest of his team.

“Anything?” he asked as he dropped back into his seat; noting that he and Vic were closer to the front than they had been. He grabbed one of the tac vest’s he’d abandoned earlier that Vic must’ve brought over for him and continued removing the blood. 

“Nothing,” Clay muttered from opposite him, the blond’s head resting in his hands. “But no one’s shouting.”

“Gotta be a good thing, right?” Sonny added quietly, before narrowing in on what was in the second’s hands. “Whose is that?”

“Metal’s.” He held it up for the others to see the patch. “Found them in one of the hostile’s trucks, the opportunistic bastards. Metal’s is salvageable, there’s really only cosmetic damage.”

“And Brock’s?” Vic asked, setting his gun aside as he listened in.

Ray didn’t answer. Not verbally at least. He grabbed the vest off the floor and held it up to show them.

It was severely damaged; even without feeling the kevlar they could see it was dented to hell. Whatever had happened, Brock had been directly in the line of fire to suffer those kinds of hits. The fabric body piece was beyond repair too; the material riddled with rips, blood and – upon closer inspection - singed in several places.

“Jesus,” Sonny muttered, taking the vest and turning it several times as he took in the full extent of the damage with wide eyes. “How in the hell was he still breathing?”

“Especially when a single shot to my chest plate in Mumbai made my diaphragm seize,” Clay added, having sat up to peer over Sonny’s shoulder. “One shot was unpleasant enough, thanks. To hell with…” the blond quickly counted, before making a face. “Five. Bloody hell.”

“Wait, what happened in Mumbai?” Vic asked, visibly curious. Ray made a note to debrief the kid on that mission when he had the time; it would be good knowledge should he ever find himself in a similar situation.

Before anyone could answer him, the curtain slid back and Trent stumbled out; his posture screaming exhaustion. They all leapt to their feet, discussion and tasks forgotten at his appearance; Jason reaching out to steady their brother when he wavered.

The medic’s expression gave nothing away as he was guided into a seat; no clue as to what was happening save for the haunted look in his eyes – but that was an expression that could hold several meanings. Jason sat beside him, and the silent order for a water bottle was fulfilled when Vic pressed one into Trent’s hand.

No one spoke, or pushed for answers as their medic took a sip. If anyone deserved a few seconds of peace, it was him; they’d all been running on little more than adrenaline and fumes since the warehouse, but they hadn’t had the task of keeping two of their team alive. If they were exhausted, then Trent was undoubtedly dead on his feet.

Ray glanced to the side when he heard footsteps, and found Blackburn and Lisa next to him – Mandy a little further away. The CIA agent shook her head when he motioned her closer, and he gave up with a sigh. Yep, that would need to be dealt with as soon as they arrived home.

A quick look around their gathered group almost, inappropriately, made him want to chuckle. If Brock and Metal could see the looks on everyone’s faces – knew that they were the cause of these expressions – both men would go running for the hills out of mortification.

For people who kept to the fringes of their group, Brock and Scott were unused to being the center of attention unless their job dictated it. And oh boy, were they ever the center of attention now.

“They’re alive,” Trent said without preamble, his voice as dull as his expression - and just like that Ray’s attention was only on the medic.

The collective relief from them all was obvious, but they wouldn’t be the tier one operatives they were if they couldn’t pick up on tells that were literally dancing in their face, demanding to be addressed.

“See, I’m hearing good news, but your expression says otherwise,” Sonny said, setting Brock’s vest on the floor and folding his arms. “What aren’t you saying?”

Trent rubbed his face tiredly. “Sorry,” he apologized, but Jason waved it away immediately with a ‘don’t be ridiculous’. Ray couldn’t agree more. The last person who should be apologizing was Trent; the man deserved the Medal of Valor or something for what he’d just been through.

“Scott’s better than I expected, all things considered. He’ll be out of commission for a while, but there shouldn’t be any reason he doesn’t make a full recovery. The GCS we ran looks good, so it seems like he got off light from the blow to the head he took, but we’re keeping an eye on that. We’ve set his nose and put an icepack on it to try reduce the swelling and cleaned the scrape on his face, so aside from the fact it’ll sting nothing else should come of it. The cut beside his eye looks like it was caused by debris; we don’t think there’s been any serious damage done but it was pretty deep, so that’ll be looked at once we’re home to make sure there won’t be any issues.”

There was a brief pause as Trent took another sip before continuing. “I was right in saying he had internal bleeding, but the doctors we rescued reckon they can manage it until we get home. They’re monitoring him for now, and Danny’s already put them in touch with Doc. He’s prepping to receive us and get the boys to the local hospital. We’ve packed a couple of his GSW’s as the bullets are still in there, and his broken ribs don’t seem to be causing him any grief at the moment so it’s just a matter of keeping him immobile till he’s had surgery.”

“Glad to hear it,” Blackburn said, voice and expression relieved. “Means I don’t have to explain to his CO why he needs a new Master Chief for Alpha.”

“Honestly, he still might have to find one,” Jason countered, and everyone frowned at him, confused. “I’m tempted to make him a permanent part of Bravo just so I can keep an eye on him; the man finds trouble faster than Sonny finds strip joints.”

Several stifled snorts broke the somber mood, and Sonny pointed at Jason in agreement. “I do have a nose for them.”

“That’s what he meant, dumbass.”

“Bite me goldilocks.”

The alleviated mood didn’t last long, which Ray felt guilty about, but he needed to know. “What about Brock?”

As expected; everyone’s attention refocused on Trent; honed in and apprehensive.

“He’s alive. For now.”

Silence. Then, “what’s that mean?” from a quiet Clay.

“Full Metal is either made of adamantium, or he just has thick bones, because despite the ribs and the blow to the head he’s relatively okay. Brock on the other hand…” Trent gnawed at his lip a moment, eyeing them up quickly before throwing caution to the wind and diving straight in; explaining to those who hadn’t been in the car exactly what happened.

He’d had seizures. Multiple of them; courtesy of the blow he’d taken to the head – although closer inspection once they’d had time had revealed a second head injury which increased the chances of bleeding on the brain, or swelling. Not to mention the injuries that suggested Brock had been punched repeatedly in the face; so there were multiple impacts points that could be responsible. There wasn’t much they could do until they landed, and Trent wasn’t sure what it could mean for Bravo 5.

What started as fractured ribs, were now broken. Despite being as careful as possible when he’d been moved to the truck, one of Brock’s ribs had broken and – because today apparently wasn’t Brock’s day – pierced his lung. While heading for exfil, Trent had been about to try and insert a chest tube to re-inflate the collapsed lung, but Craig’s sudden death had changed all that. The force of the doctor’s body landing heavily on Brock and Metal had broken further ribs for the pair, although Metal had somehow gotten off lightly – likely down to the fact the weight hadn’t fully landed on him.

The sudden loss of his scalpel meant that not only did Brock have a long line of stitches dissecting his chest, but Trent hadn’t been able to help him as planned; which meant that the amount of oxygen Brock got had significantly decreased. Then his other lung collapsed around the same time he’d been placed on the stretcher; the only sign he’d stopped breathing was the tinge to his lips that had turned blue very _very_ quickly.

They’d gone from having a bit of time to assess his injuries and work out the best course of action, to none.

And if that hadn’t been hard enough, they couldn’t do CPR. With his ribs broken, those that hadn’t already pierced his lungs were at a high risk of doing so if any pressure was placed on his chest. Which meant they’d had to breathe for him until they could get his lungs re-inflated.

Even with the tubes inserted, Brock still hadn’t started breathing on his own; it’d taken the defib several attempts to shock his body and an injection of adrenaline to bring him back.

“Even though he’s currently alive, there’s no guarantees he’ll stay that way,” Trent finished, his voice as dead as his eyes. “His body… it’s suffered a lot of trauma; and that’s without the GSW’s, internal bleeding and the like added in there. As much as we should have done a GCS test already – the seizures and the precarious nature of his ribs means trying to get a response could make things worse if he moves, and I’m just not willing to take that risk. Honestly, I wish I could give you something better, but I can’t.”

Sonny stood suddenly and stormed off, slamming his fist against a crate as he passed. Ray watched him go, before deciding to give him a few minutes to calm down; but if the Texan didn’t come back to them of his own free will then he had every intention of dragging Bravo 3 back to his team.

Solitude was the last thing any of them needed right now, even if Sonny thought otherwise.

* * *

Hearing it all laid out like it was, Jason was torn. He wanted to see Brock and Metal. Needed to see them; to see with his own eyes that they were breathing. Alive. But he knew that Trent needed him too; his brother who needed comfort and grounding by someone he cared about.

Brock and Metal would just have to wait a little longer. Besides, Clay was moving their way, so he’d give the kid the chance to have a private moment with them. Satisfied his brothers wouldn’t be left alone, he wrapped an arm around Trent’s shoulders and drew the man in; resting their temples together.

With his arm positioned as it was, he was able to feel the tremors that ran through his brother’s body. He hugged the man tighter. “No matter what happens, you did everything you could. Brock couldn’t have asked for better.”

Trent didn’t reply. He didn’t yell or scream, or sob out loud. The man just bowed his head, turning into Jason to hide his eyes from view as he allowed everything of the past afternoon to wash over him.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what Trent was going through – how he felt. He never could after incidents like this. Their medic was a god given gift, assigned to their team to watch over them, patch them up time and time again. But there was a limit to Trent’s skills; a limit to how much he could do for them regardless of the circumstances.

It didn’t mean the medic wouldn’t bargain with whatever higher power was watching over them, if he knew that’d be enough to bring back a brother; but there had to be a point he reached – a line he couldn’t cross.

That line appeared to have been reached already.

He caught Ray watching Trent worriedly, and when his friend looked at him he nodded imperceptibly. Trent would be talking to someone about this – someone professional; his own experiences lately had shown him that getting help was more beneficial than not – even if it had taken him a while to accept that. So he’d be there as a silent support if the man needed it.

Ray nodded back, and he corrected himself. They’d both be there as silent support if Trent needed it.

“Alright,” Blackburn said quietly, his own exhaustion evident in that single word. “We’ve still got a few hours before we touch down. Try get some sleep if you can. It’s been a trying three days, and there’ll be a lot to do once we’re stateside.”

Trent pulled away from Jason, giving him a glimpse of the medic’s bloodshot eyes. Yeah, this man was beyond exhausted and was about to be marched to and dumped into his hammock posthaste.

“I should check on them -”

“Not gunna happen.” Blackburn beat him to responding, and Jason looked at his commander and friend, grateful. Blackburn nodded in acknowledgment before refocusing on Trent. “You’ve done everything you can. Danny is more than capable of monitoring them for the time being and can come get you if anything changes. You’re going to rack out, Trent. I’ll order you there if I have to.”

“Come on,” Ray said, setting aside the tac vest and moving to grab Trent’s shoulder. He’d done what he could for the vest anyway. “I’ll walk you to your hammock.”

Trent looked at them all before sighing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Jason knew how he felt; if he, Ray and Blackburn were all on the same page about something, trying to argue was a moot point.

With a gentle nudge of encouragement, Trent stood and followed Ray; the 2IC snagging a couple of hammocks and heading close to where their boys were strapped down to set up. Jason applauded Ray’s thinking. While Trent would follow their instructions to try rest, he’d throw a goddamn fit if Ray tried to put him where he couldn’t see his patients.

Keeping him within eye sight and easy reach was the best middle ground they could hope for to get the man to do as he was told.

“When I said it’s time to rest, I meant you too Jason.”

Blackburn was staring at him pointedly, and he sighed, standing without argument. “I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered. When Blackburn walked away, he turned to Vic who was cleaning his rifle again.

“Oi,” he said, giving his youngest squad member a gentle kick to the calf. “The ‘rack-out’ order wasn’t selective. It was for you too.”

Vic blinked, looking slightly startled. Obviously he’d zoned out the moment Trent had finished talking. “What?”

“Rack-out time, kid,” he repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “Now.”

Vic looked at the gun that was half assembled in his lap. “I need to finish this, then I’ll hit the hay. Promise,” he added when Jason raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. Leaving a gun half assembled was a no-no, even in the safety of the plane. Besides, he didn’t want to have to explain to Davis why a part or two was missing if they rolled away because he hadn’t reassembled his gun before bunking down. Jason might scare him on the odd occasion, but facing her disappointment was downright terrifying.

No thanks.

Rolling his eyes, Jason snagged a hammock of his own and walked away. “You better,” he threatened. Goddamn but if it wasn’t like dealing with Mikey and Emma on school nights all over again.

He’d give them a call when he got home, once he’d cleared his head a bit. He badly needed to hear their voices, if only to bring back some semblance of normality.

After hanging his hammock where he had a good view of the medical bay, Jason wandered over to the two stretchers – wanting to check on both men and reassure himself that they were still with them. Two of the doctors were hovering around Brock, so not wanting to make a nuisance of himself he moved to inspect Scott first.

It was as Trent had described. The man was bloody and beaten, but he looked relatively okay. Trent had left out that Metal had stopped breathing at one point, but that could have been caused by any number of reasons. He was still hooked up to an ECG monitor, so there was either the concern it’d happen again, or it was simply there for peace of mind.

While he didn’t understand most of what was on the screen, he and his brothers had been attached to one of these things often enough that he could tell Scott’s heart was strong and functioning normally.

Satisfied with what he saw, he peeled back the ice pack and winced at the blood that was already pooling beneath the skin. Man, but Metal was in for some shocking bruising under his eyes. If he was lucky, that would be the extent of it – otherwise he was sure Emma could find some makeup to help hide the worst of the damage.

Danny ambled over with a clipboard, and he gave him a nod in greeting when the tier three operative turned medic glanced at him.

“How’s he doing?”

“Vitals are strong,” the man replied, handing over the clipboard for Jason to look at. He wouldn’t admit it was just jumbled jargon to his eyes – boy this kid had some shocking handwriting – but what he could understand seemed positive. “He’ll need a fair bit of rest, but he’s gotten off pretty light, all things considered.”

“So Trent said,” Jason muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “You keeping him sedated?”

“Not at the moment. We want him to wake enough to run another brain function test, so we haven’t bothered with any drugs until we can do that. Once the test is done, I’m knocking his ass right back out again.”

Jason nodded before turning to Brock. “He had any more seizures?”

One of the doctors they’d rescued was standing beside Brock’s gurney, making a note on a tablet. The woman hit send before looking at him, and Jason managed to hide the wince at the fading bruises that littered the woman’s face and neck. Whatever they’d been doing to their prisoners, they hadn’t been gentle.

“Doctor Carter,” she said in way of greeting and introduction. “Mr Reynolds has had a couple more seizures since we resuscitated him. We suspect it’s due to the swelling on the brain, and considering how short they were we’re hopeful that there won’t be any long term damage. I wish I could give you better news, but it’s too hard to know what’s going on without seeing any scans.”

Jason sighed as he took one of Brock’s lax hands in his, rubbing his thumb over scraped knuckles. Lying here like this, he looked almost fragile against the backboard – a strange sight for one so active. His face was a shocking mix of black and blue; hidden by the ice packs that had been laid in strips to try assist with the swelling, but even Jason knew they were a lost cause. Nothing but time and rest could heal that amount of damage.

A shift of his eyes brought Jason face to face with the line of stitches Trent had mentioned earlier, and they were worse than he’d thought – the line running nearly the width of his chest and making him wince at the mere thought of the scalpel slicing through that much flesh. Paper cuts were bad enough, let alone something that size.

Just… ow.

The wound was inflamed, the sutures standing stark white against the red and a closer look revealed a bit of puss – infection already starting to set in. Just what Brock didn’t need right now. The bullet wounds he could see were even worse, and reeked of antiseptic cleanser. They weren’t stitched closed, just bandaged; yet another thing to subject the canine handler to once they were home.

The sight of the wounds was broken by the two tubes that were sticking out either side of his chest. Thin and standing proud. Without them, Brock would likely be dead within minutes. And then there was the severe bruising on his chest; the spots where the bullets had struck his chest plate almost black, they were that bad. Clay had been sore for weeks after Mumbai – he could only imagine the agony Brock would be in when he woke from these.

God, but he wished there was something he could do for his brother.

A question popped into his mind, and he looked between Carter and Danny – wondering whether he should ask, and whether they could answer. Glancing at Brock, the man’s bruised and swollen face made the decision for him.

“What’s the best case scenario we’re looking at for him? Trent reckons Full Metal will be able to serve again once he’s recovered, but what about Brock?”

The two medics shared a look, before Danny ducked his head and turned away. Perturbed by the action, Jason turned to Carter. “Well?”

Carter bit her lip, which sent his anxiety with the situation skyrocketing. “Spit it out doc, what are we looking at?”

“With all due respect sir, I think it’s best you and your team prepare yourselves for the fact that he may never recover enough to return to active service.”

* * *

Ray couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried. He could feel his body screaming for rest, practically begging for the embrace of unconsciousness that would allow his aching muscles the chance to loosen and recover; but his mind wouldn’t stop spinning, talking, worrying.

Carter’s words kept bouncing around his head. _Never recover enough to return to active service._ Brock; the man who was more mountain goat than human and seemed to have a never ending supply of energy, laughter and compassion for others might never heal properly.

What would that mean for him? Would he be able to function under his own power, but slower? Would he need a carer full time, losing his highly valued independence along the way?

Would he lose Cerberus? The dog he loved so much… that loved him so much in return… would they be separated for good because he couldn’t give the dog the care he needed? Be taken by another handler so as to not waste his incredible skills – skills that were thanks to his dedicated human?

Would either of them cope with not seeing each other again?

Would they both give up the will to live? Die of a broken heart at the loss of the other?

Ray shuddered and swung his feet over the side of his hammock, the mere thought of Brock and Cerb being permanently separated chasing him from sleep completely. There was no way he could rest now with that thought lingering in his mind.

Their little area of the plane was silent, Bravo having set up near to where their fallen brothers lay so as to keep an eye on them. Sonny had come back not long after he’d all but shoved Trent into his hammock, sleep snatching Bravo 4 the moment he shut his eyes.

Like the rest of them, Sonny had taken a moment with Brock and Metal; his hand placed carefully over theirs before he’d turned away to get some sleep.

They were all… no they weren’t. A quick hammock count reaffirmed they were one short, but he didn’t have to look far to find his wayward brother.

Vic was curled up in the nook some crates formed near the stretchers, his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees. The kid looked tired, but his eyes were alert when they flicked to him as he wandered over.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Vic asked quietly, not moving from his position. That was fine. Ray dropped into the jump seat beside him. It gave him a good view of Brock’s face and his monitor.

“Shouldn’t you?” he countered, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t wait to get home and to his own bed. Not that he’d be getting anywhere near it until he knew what was happening with his brothers, and who knew how long that would take.

“I wish I could sleep. I’m just… every time I close my eyes…”

Ray nudged the kid’s leg, understanding exactly what Vic was struggling to put into words. “I hear you.”

They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Vic eventually broke it, and his question surprised the hell out of Ray when he asked it.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not the one laid out, trying to stay alive,” he replied after a moment, somewhat baffled. Whatever he’d thought might be said, he certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

Vic sighed, hugged his legs to his chest a bit tighter. “That’s not what I meant. You’ve known Brock and Metal for how long now? I just…” the kid groaned, and Ray felt bad. Now that he understood where Vic was coming from, he was actually quite touched by the thoughtfulness of the question. It reminded him a great deal of a certain someone. “Forget it.”

“I’m okay,” he replied, choosing to answer anyway. It was good to encourage Vic to speak his mind; despite what many thought, empathy was an important quality for a SEAL to have. It separated them from the cold blooded killers they often hunted down. “I’ve had better days, that’s for damn sure. In fact this is probably right up there with the ones that monumentally suck, but I’m okay.”

Leaning forward, Ray ran a hand over his head as he thought. “I’ve known Jase and Metal as long as I’ve served. We went through training at the same time, served overseas together… then went through BUDs and Green Team. The shit the three of us used to get up too…” he exhaled heavily, a fond smile gracing his lips at the thought of the utter hell they caused when unsupervised.

“Man. Pretty sure our commander was glad to see the backs of us when we decided we were going to be SEALs. I think the stories of Trident’s Spawn still follow him around.”

Vic lifted his head and looked at him, surprised. “That was you?”

“And Jason and Metal,” he said defensively. “It wasn’t just me; besides, I was the voice of reason more often than not. If I didn’t put my foot down I swear we would have been kicked out before we even finished our training.”

“There were so many stories we were told about Trident’s Spawn – they were specifically taught in a ‘do not do this or you’ll be hanging from the rafters cause we will not go through that again’ manner.” Vic looked rather shell shocked. “I’m having trouble reconciling what we were told with the fact that I’ve worked with all three of you. You’re nothing like the stories.”

“The stories are over fifteen years old,” he chuckled. “I’d like to think we’ve grown up a bit since then. And don’t you dare say we got more boring; you’ll be on an unexpected HAHO jump over VaBeach without your gear if you do.”

Vic snorted, and held his hands up in surrender. “No crotchety old men jokes. Promise.”

“Mmhm. Anyway, Metal’ll walk this off. The man’s been injured worse than this – and has this really annoying habit of looking injury in the face and laughing at it. He’ll be fine.”

The image made them both snort. Yeah, that was definitely something they could see Metal doing. He’d likely be trying to make a break for it on crutches before the week’s end.

Laughter trailing off and mood sobering, Ray looked back at Brock, at the curly hair and far too pale skin of his brother. “As for Brock…”

He hadn’t been Bravo 2 for very long when Brock joined them, the retirement of their Master Chief had pushed both Jason and Ray into the team’s leadership positions. Jason had been 2IC for a few years, so had slotted into his new role without so much as blinking. Ray on the other hand had felt somewhat blindsided by the sudden promotion, despite knowing it was coming for several months.

With the change of personnel, it had meant they’d needed a new team mate. Jason had known what he was looking for – Ray had not. The selection of Brock Reynolds to their unit had not been his choice.

The man was quiet, unusually so, and he didn’t have the drive several of the rookies in Green team had. Yes, the others were loud and somewhat arrogant, but they were go-getters and always wanted to showcase their skills.

But none of them had interested Jason beyond a passing curiosity; the moment he’d seen him, his friend had only ever had eyes for the younger brunet.

Then Brock – along with his working dog - was introduced to the rest of them as Bravo 6, and the decision was made. When he’d questioned Jason about whether he was the right choice, it was one of the rare times his brother had smirked the ‘I know something you don’t know’ look before walking away, saying nothing.

A week was all their team had together before being spun up for a mission with Echo. During that time Ray had observed Brock closely, but still he couldn’t work out his selection. The man rarely spoke, save for one or two comments during a briefing session, and he spent a lot of time training with Cerberus. He was skilled with a gun, and had never ending stamina, but when the option to be head of the pack or rowdy at the pub was there, he instead chose to hang back; quietly enjoying his drink while watching the rest of them goof off.

It was a problem he’d struggled to get his head around, so lacking a better option he put the question to Chris, Echo’s 2IC and a good friend when they were on route for their mission.

_“Your first Greenie selection, huh?”_

_“That’s the thing. He wasn’t my selection. Jase picked him pretty much from day one – barely gave the other rookies so much as a glance.”_

_“You don’t trust his judgement?”_

_“Of course I trust his judgement,” he scoffed. “I just… why him? When there were better choices?”_

_Chris looked at him for a long time, before smirking._

_“Were they better choices, or louder ones?”_

_He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“The only reason Reynolds is on your team, is because Jason beat all the other squads to selecting him. That man moves faster than a goddamn viper when he wants something; I was certain Jake was going to throw a fit when he missed out. There was an eye twitch, but that was about all, thank Christ. I’ve been hearing about it for days; Jase knows how to play dirty.”_

_That made even less sense. Brock was wanted by everyone? So much so that the SEAL teams were fighting over him?_

_“Let me tell you the one lesson that Jake drilled into me when I went through my first Greenie selection – sometimes the quietest ones are the deadliest. They’re the ones worth watching.”_

_“And you knew what he was talking about?”_

_“I didn’t then. I do now.”_

With that, Chris had slapped him on the back and left him to it, whether it was to ponder that sentence further or not, Ray wasn’t sure.

But ponder it he did. And still he couldn’t work out what everyone else was apparently seeing.   


  
A toss of the coin is what put Bravo in the support role for this spin-up; but for once Jason had been happy to take the backseat – the shuffle in roles and the addition of the newest Bravo 6 in such a short time frame meant they hadn’t all quite adjusted to their new dynamics.

But then Ray and Brock had been set as rear security when something had gone wrong at Echo's location, and Jason had taken Nate, Sonny and Trent to go assist them; a harried ‘keep an eye on him' issued before Jason dropped out of comms.

The enemy came, and it had taken everything Ray had to keep them from storming the building his brothers had entered, and blowing up the one he'd found a perch in.

So, naturally, he may have forgotten about Brock. And by the time he remembered him, he had the horrible sinking feeling he may have gotten his littlest brother killed with his negligence.

Another shot, and a hostile dropped. He’d figured the reprieve would be no more than a minute at most, and so had shifted position to look over the side of the balcony where he'd last seen Bravo 6, dreading what he'd find.

The dozen or so dead hostiles scattered through the yard had not been what he'd expected, because he wasn’t the one who put them there.

There was a whistle somewhere off to the right, and Ray scoped up – thinking it was another enemy combatant. Instead he saw Cerberus sprinting through the streets; the dog scrambling up some crates and leaping over a wall to drop behind a hostile - distracting the man and Ray long enough for the hostile to drop with a bullet to the head, Brock to melt out of the shadows to check his work before disappearing again with little more than a whistle to the pup.

To say he'd been impressed had been an understatement.

But then a building right next to where the others had been exploded, and Ray had been drawn back to the task at hand; preparing to cover his brother’s evac to their rally point as Jason warned him they had wounded and would be out the door any second.

Brock was ordered to bring the humvee around while Ray hauled ass to the exit. He'd been intending to take the wheel from the rookie – he may be a brother but Ray had no intentions of trusting him to drive their collective asses outta there without first seeing his license - but then he saw Trent and Sonny hauling the badly injured Chris and Jake over their shoulders with the rest of Bravo and Echo covering the rear, and he froze. His shock and anger overrode his rational thinking enough that he went to help the wounded, rather than take over driving duties, and he didn’t come back to his senses until he was stuck in the back of the vehicle with Brock in the driver’s seat, Cerberus in the middle, Jason shotgun and Sonny in the turret.

Ray had never had an issue with motion sickness. He loved going fast, whether it was in a car, a go kart, a motorbike or even free falling from the C-17 during a HAHO mission.

But he was pretty certain he was going to be sick. With Jason up the front yelling instructions for both Brock and Sonny, the rest of the SEALs crammed into the back had a running commentary as provided by TOC and relayed by Bravo 1.

_“Sonny, we have six technicals closing in on our position, get ready!”_

_“Bring ‘em to papa, baby!”_

_“Brock, take a left up ahead! Sonny – first technical will be appearing in three. Two -"_

_“Yeah baby!”_

_“Straight ahead Brock, turn right on my mark! Bravo 4 – two more coming at your five o’clock.”_

_There was a whirr of machinery as Sonny swivelled the gun around. “Oooh but I’m gunna have me some fried Taliban for dinner tonight!”_

_“Mark!”_

_“You better not miss, jackass!” Nate roared, and they all cried out in alarm when the humvee did a fucking_ handbrake _slide into a right hand corner. Ray would’ve been impressed with the fluid gear change and acceleration if he wasn’t fighting back the potential of suffering his breakfast again._

_“I’m gunna be sick,” Nate grumbled at another sharp turn, the active headlamps doing his sickly green pallor no favours._

_“Not in here you’re not,” Trent snapped, the medic doing remarkably well to stay balanced as he helped Echo's medic triage their wounded. “Keep it in, or it goes in your boots.”_

_“I thought you were supposed to care for people,” Nate grumbled weakly, groaning as there was another violent turn, followed by a whoop from Sonny as several somethings blew up behind them. “Jesus Christ, where did Jase find this kid – fucking NASCAR?!”_

_Trent smirked, but didn’t reply. Evidently he knew more about their rookie than they did._

_“Last two technicals inbound Sonny – wait, say again TOC?” Two seconds later, Jason swore, the comms falling silent for what felt like an age before Bravo 1 came back on. “Sonny, we have a technical at our four and ten o’clock approaching at the same speed – pick which one you want.”_

_“I can’t get the gun around fast enough to get them both, Jase!” Sonny replied, his voice panicked. Ray knew he would be too with a car load of brothers’ sitting ducks beneath him._

_“That’s why I said pick one, Bravo 4! We'll deal with the other.”_

_Sonny took the technical racing up behind them, figuring it'd be easier for Jason to do whatever he was planning on doing with the one he could actually see._

Ray didn’t know what happened to the second technical – only that there was a yell for Sonny to brace before the car slammed into something, swung left heavily and sent them all flying - thereby resulting in minor concussions for one or two of them. Ray thankfully not included.

It wasn’t until they were back on board the C-17 that they got the play-by-play; Brock and Cerb were tucked up in a hammock fast asleep after being sent there by a ridiculously smug Jason with a hair ruffle for the rookie, and an ear ruffle for the dog. The reaction had been utterly perplexing, and when combined with the image of a bloodied, grinning Brock and equally bloodied Cerberus once they all fell out of the humvee at the LZ – Jason assured them all the blood had occurred pre-car ride - well.

Ray was completely lost.

But then Blackburn had pulled up the IR footage, and those still standing from both teams had watched, jaws agape, as Brock timed his arrival at the street down to the millisecond for the last technical’s arrival; slamming at excess speeds into the vehicle and braking hard before zipping off into the road the now smouldering wreck had arrived from.

 _“Oh, and that was all him,” Jason told them smugly, folding his arms across his chest. “I just relayed the info he wanted to know – and holy shit am I a happy man. Bravo 6 can_ drive _.”_

_They all looked to the hammocks, the man their focus was trained on utterly blasé to the eyes on him as he slept._

_“Man, Jake is gunna be so pissed when he finds out what happened,” Reece, Echo’s number 5 grumbled, scratching his cheek. “He’s always lamented our lack of driving skills. Damn you Hayes – we’re all going to have to listen to his bitching when he wakes up.”_

_“Not that he’s stopped since selection.” Someone else muttered. Ray thought it might’ve been Echo 4._

_Jason shrugged, grabbing a pack of beers and handing them around. “I’ll send Brock over to give some lessons, if you think that’ll help.”_

_“Fuck off,” Reece replied without any heat. “Just see if we don’t take that offer up when you least want it. Maybe we can convince the kid to jump ship.”_

_“Wait till you find out what he did back at that village,” Blackburn interrupted, a smirk forming as he began pulling up a different feed._

_“Oh for fucks sake!”_

_“Damn it Hayes!”_

“So… Brock took out all twelve of those hostiles, without saying a word?” Vic was staring into space; trying to process what he’d been told.

Ray shook his head. “He used Cerb,” he clarified. “With nothing more than high pitched whistles to send the dog wherever he wanted – which was to distract or incapacitate the bad guys and get them in the open long enough for him to take them out. Prior to him doing that, working dogs were only known to be trained in narcotics or bombs. Brock showed those trainers and then some; now he helps train up and coming dog handlers how to do the same.”

“Shit.”

“Mmhm. Your brother may be quiet, but he’s dangerous.”

“‘Sometimes the quietest ones are the deadliest. They’re the ones worth watching,’” Vic quoted back, looking at him as he said it.

Ray nodded, smirking. Now the kid was catching on.

“I… didn’t know that about Brock,” Vic admitted, his eyes finding his unconscious teammate once again. “I feel like that’s something I should have known.”

“Eh,” he replied, one shoulder raising in a shrug. “I didn’t know that when he started either. But I learned pretty damn quickly that day he was a good operator – far better than I’d given him credit for.”

He trailed off, and Vic looked at him. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

The kid was good. “I might have learned Brock was a good operator, that mission,” he conceded. “But I discovered what kind of man he was when it was over.” 

  
  
_With Echo 1 and 2 safely ensconced in the hospital undergoing lifesaving surgery, Ray found himself – as he often did after difficult missions or during difficult situations – in the on-base church._

_A place of peace and comfort, he often came here to help clear his mind and cleanse his soul of what he'd done. What he'd been forced to do in the protection of his country. His brothers._

_As always, he was sitting in the front pew; his head bowed and his eyes closed as he allowed his heart and mind to bring him closer to his God. And his focus is what immediately triggered his senses to the presence of another SEAL entering the room._

_Gentle manipulation of the door handle, barely there footsteps as he entered – utter stillness when his unknown brother settled into the pew at the back. Not the movements of standard military personnel, but of one who'd been well taught in the art of stealth and self-awareness._

_Ray ignored him. Everyone was entitled to be here – everyone was entitled to be one with their God; who was he to demand solitude during his hardship?_

_Despite thinking he didn’t care, for some reason the itch to turn around grew, and so he did. And he was completely floored by the sight of Brock Reynold's sitting there quietly; his posture relaxed while his eyes roamed the room._

_Anger welled up then, before he could question it. There was nothing in the man’s file that said he was religious, no indication he believed in a higher power. And he was here? Now?_

_Before he'd even registered moving, he was down the back; arms folded across his chest and glaring down at the rookie. “You following me?”_

_Brock didn’t look startled, or embarrassed. He just looked up at Ray with an expression Ray was beginning to realise was inherently… Brock._

_“I heard Echo 2 is a good friend of yours. I hope he comes right.”_

_It was as though the softly spoken statement drained the anger from him. This kid truly was full of surprises. Calmer, but still wanting an answer he said, “what are you doing here kid?”_

_“I thought you could use a friend.”_

_The rookie didn’t say anything further, save to shuffle over slightly, and Ray, for whatever reason, found himself taking the offered seat._   


_They sat together for the next two hours in silence. Brock never fidgeted, never spoke, never made any indication he was bored. He sneezed once, suddenly, and had looked as startled by the outburst as Ray did._

_That had made Ray chuckle, and decide that his church had done what it could for him. With a pat on the rookie's leg he stood and waited for Brock to lead the way. When they got outside, Ray had expected the man to explain his actions – explain why he'd sought Ray out here of all places. But with a softly spoken “goodnight" and a kind smile, Brock turned around and wandered off._

“To this day, we've never spoken about that night,” Ray told Vic, fondness touching his lips. “But it’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me. Brock's my brother, and I love him dearly, just like I love all my brothers. But that gesture is one I’ll never forget – one I want to teach my kids when they’re old enough to understand that kindness isn’t just about words.”

Sniffing wetly, he cleared his throat when emotion overwhelmed him unexpectedly. “After particularly tough missions, whenever I go to church Brock is always there. He never says anything, just turns up, sits with me then wanders off when we leave.” He huffed a laugh. “I guess after today I’ll have to bring a bit of church to him, just so our ritual isn’t broken when it’s him who I'm worried about.”

“You know, for the quietest one out of us, he sure as hell says a lot,” Vic said quietly.

“Ain’t that the truth, brother. He’s the best definition of ‘actions speak louder than words.’ Always has been.”

He just prayed that his God would leave Brock with them so he could continue being that example, continue being the pure soul amongst the sea of black.

Because saying goodbye was not something Ray was prepared to do, and he'd give anything to prove that; prove Brock was still wanted and needed in their lives.

Vic played with a loose thread on his pants as he looked at the canine handler. “It sounds like you all have a close relationship with him.”

Ray saw through the comment, heard the uncertainty for what it was. Vic was worried Brock hadn’t accepted him as part of their group, because he didn’t have a unique connection with him. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking at Vic knowingly when the man frowned, confused. “You'll find your own thing with Brock soon enough. Give him time to work out what that will be.”

He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when the man ducked his head. The intercom chimed, and usual habit had Ray’s ears perking up to listen.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we're on final approach for VaBeach – touchdown ETA 15 mikes.”_

Slapping Vic on the shoulder, he stood and stretched. They'd ended up talking a lot longer than he'd expected. “Better strap in kid. Wake the others and let them know, would you?”

Vic grumbled, but began rousing as asked. Satisfied his brothers would be up and moving shortly, Ray moved closer to Brock's stretcher as he felt the plane begin its descent, and placed a hand on the unconscious man's forehead. “Not long to go now, brother. Just hang in there and we can get you sorted.”

The slightly bluish tinge to Brock's lips made him frown. Last he heard, Brock should have been getting enough oxygen – what with the two tubes sticking out of his chest. He gave the ECG monitor a look, and blanched at the wavering vitals that greeted him. “TRENT!”

It was almost poetic, really, that Ray should have been telling Vic the story he did – that he had explained how much of a good soul Brock was.

It was almost poetic that Ray's prayer that his God would spare this man, bring him back to those that loved him would instead see his faith tested when Brock's heart stopped beating minutes before they landed.


	5. Breath of Life

**A/N: So. How's your week going? New Zealand has gone into a mandatory lockdown of 4 weeks, which means you can't leave your home unless you're classed as essential services, or going for food or fuel. This virus is ramping up its numbers, but thank christ we're not to the levels of the bigger countries yet! My thoughts are with everyone during this crazy time! As I said to a friend today, I think society became complacent thinking that just because we're in the 'modern era' we were no longer susceptible to global illnesses like our ancestors were. Guess we were wrong! Hopefully, at the end of all this madness we see some good things as a result; the end of wet markets, environmentally friendly endeavours prioritised etc...**

**I guess it also means that I have 4 weeks to get all my stories updated and finished, among other things. How ever will I find the time...**

**Side note #1 - I've done some research on Full Metal's permanent placement on Bravo, and according to the SEAL Team fandom wiki page "He is the former team leader in Alpha Team, who becomes attached to Bravo after Clay Spenser was severely injured in an explosion. He still wears his 1A9 badge, which can be seen in Season 3 Episode 10 Unbecoming an Officer." So, that's rather interesting - him being on loan isn't so far-fetched for this story after all!**

**Side note #2 - did I giggle like a lunatic after this weeks episode (16) where not only was Brock the getaway driver, but Jason was shotgun? Yes. Yes I did. The writers must've read my mind ;) Did I also cheer at the fact there's been an increase in talking scenes for both Brock and Trent in the past few episodes? Hell yes I did! I think we finally might see some real character progress for them - hooray!**

**Side note #3 - this was going to be a longer chapter, but as I've been dicking around re-reading this several times to make sure it 'fits' with the theme and speed of the rest of the story, I decided 'fuck it, just post it - it fits perfectly for everything that's been happening'. I think the stress of this past week and potentially facing a job loss (I'm in tourism in Queenstown, and tourism ain't gunna be back for a while, that's for damn sure!) is starting to make me doubt myself. About standard! Also (side note #4?) I've gone through the previous chapters and fixed a couple of things. There's no major changes, but formatting has been fixed (I posted last chapter from my phone again...) and I've changed a couple sentences here and there to make it flow better. Should make for better reading if you end up re-reading in the future :D**

**Special shoutout to[Jinxie17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxie17), [Lifeshandful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeshandful), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [NyxNight94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNight94), [purplehaz97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [yuckate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) and the 39 guests who've commented and kudosed. You guys are awesome!**

* * *

When Jason woke, he was not amused. A quick glance to his watch and a sluggish calculation in his head put them at least a half hour out of Virginia Beach, so the fact he was conscious at all really ground his gears.

Despite his worry for his brothers, falling asleep in his hammock had been easy to do – like it always was; so used to stealing rest when he could no matter the circumstances. But once he woke, years of ingrained habit advised his body that it was go-time, and so sleep would be almost impossible to find until he could convince it otherwise.

With a miserable groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose while listening to his surroundings, trying to work out just what in the hell had woken him from his much needed rest.

Talking. Soft enough it wouldn’t jar anyone awake but loud enough to be heard over the monotonous drone of the engines. He turned his head and watched as Ray told Vic a story; his best friend’s face alight with fondness and amusement and his younger brother utterly drawn in by the tale.

Focusing, it didn’t take him long to realise the story was the tail end of the infamous ‘Reynolds-Saga’ – as so dubbed by Sonny for Bravo’s history book. He grinned. Brock had been beyond mortified when he learned that each rookie got an entry into said book – Blackburn kept the original in his office under lock and key to stop any not-so-accidental destruction attempts, whilst a copy was available on request in the library – and the Bravo/Echo mission had been gleefully penned in great detail by the rest of his brothers before being officially published.

Sonny and Nate’s entries had been wildly embellished; Nate focusing more on a _‘I was certain I was going to die at the hands of a wannabe rally driver, and how wrong was I?!’_ theme, while Sonny’s tilted more towards _‘that car ride was waaaaay_ _better than any theme park ride I’ve ever been on! 10 stars!’_. 

Ray’s had given a blow-by-blow combination of his personal experience and what the ISR footage had shown - _‘it’s important to get the details right for future generations, kid. You never know what they’ll learn from it,’_ whilst deliberately going into so much detail it was almost ridiculous. Jason’s may have over exaggerated the vehicle chase somewhat; but whenever he reread it he could still feel the pride he’d poured into every word.

Out of them all, Trent’s had been the most realistic to the events that occurred; but their brother had still heaped praise on the rookie without going too over the top.

Having barely known them for a week and been subjected to such comments, Brock had muttered something about murdering them in their sleep after he was allowed to read his chapter. Jason wasn’t ashamed to admit he slept with one eye open for a solid month afterwards - just in case. He may be a brother, but Brock was also a SEAL - which meant Jason hadn’t put the potential of retaliation past him.

Sonny and Nate had. Sonny also ended up with the inside of his sleeping bag slathered in lube on the fourth day of their multi-day deployment five weeks later. Nate got the inside of his boots coated with mustard. Both had hot sauce added to their shampoo.

Ray had thanked his lucky stars he’d been spared; figured it was probably because he’d heaped praise on Cerberus for his part on the mission.

Jason was certain he’d been spared solely because he was Bravo 1. Possibly because his entry had raved about Brock’s skills.

There was suspicion Trent had helped the canine handler; which is how they’d come to be best friends. It was never confirmed, nor was it ever denied.

Both men just blank faced anyone who dared ask.

Settling into his hammock further, Jason decided that if he couldn’t sleep then he’d listen to the rest of the story. Besides, it had been awhile since he’d heard it – the last time they’d discussed the mission had been when they’d put Clay’s entry in over a year ago; and said discussion had once again made Brock go bright red while muttering dire things under his breath about the lot of them. 

Thankfully, said mutterings were more begrudging acceptance than anything; which meant he’d only slept with one eye open for a week, rather than a month like the first time. 

Progress. 

Thinking back to Brock’s arrival on the team, he remembered how the canine handler’s file had immediately caught his eye. The latest batch of Green Team candidates were nearing the end of their training and close to selection, so as usual there’d been eight rookies in all to review; and after reading it, Jason had suspected Brock’s file had deliberately been put at the back – saving the best to last.

The man had top grades in all areas; from survival training, marksmanship and acing the ball-busting multi-day hikes that Jason had gleefully given the middle finger to when he’d passed it himself - right through to comments that heaped praise on his general work ethic and refreshing lack of arrogance. Special mention had also been made of his skill with his still-in-training working dog and beyond impressive driving abilities.

Out of all the rookies, Brock was by far the most desirable candidate; with a calm demeanor under pressure, sharp mind for tactics, eye for detail and an easy smile. And it wasn’t just him who thought so, either.

_Adam slid into the spare seat opposite him, and Jason shared a look with his shortly retiring MC before nodding at his friend. “How’s it going?”_

_“I notice you’ve got the reports on the latest batch of Greenies,” Adam replied, cracking open the beer he was offered and taking a quick mouthful. “What do you think?”_

_Jason set Reynolds file down and folded his arms across his chest, eyeing Seaver up speculatively. “They’ve all got impressive marks; any squad would be lucky to have them.”_

_“Uh-huh.” Adam took another sip before pointing at him with the can. “You’ve already set your sights on one.”_

_“Have not,” he retorted immediately, and glared when his two companions smirked at each other. “I haven’t! They all look good; excellent marks and recommendations. I’d be lucky to have any of them on the team.”_

_“And here I was thinking that Jason Hayes never settled for second best.” Adam’s eyes flicked over the folders on the table, immediately spotting how Reynolds’ one was slightly to the side of others. ‘Hadn’t set his sights on any of them,’ his ass._

_“A word of advice from one friend to another, Jase,” he continued, his voice dropping as he looked around the room to ensure he wasn’t overheard. It’d look bad if he was caught showing favourites so close to selection day._

_“If you want Reynolds, you fight for him straight off the bat. Word on the street is all the pack leaders have got their eye on him, so his selection isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”_

_What was akin to cold water trickling down his spine made Jason sit up a little straighter. “Why’re you telling me?” He didn’t care about how Adam knew this, only his motivation behind telling him specifically. Especially when his friend could get in trouble for providing unfair advantages._

_That’s why they got on so well._

_So yes, he wanted Reynolds on his team; the kid was a league above the others and would fit perfectly into Bravo’s dynamics. But why was Adam having this conversation with him if everyone else wanted him, too?_

_“Because I’ve seen how you boys work, and I know Reynolds. He’s the best fit for Bravo; any other squad would do well with him on board, but I know that several egos on the other teams would squash his potential. You’ve both created a good balance in this squad over the years – it’s why you’re the best DEVGRU unit out there. He doesn’t have the arrogance or the bravado that constantly causes issues – he’s there to do his job and do it well so everyone comes home._ ”

_Adam stood and drained the rest of his beer, before tossing the can in the bin. “You want him? Then you pull every damn trick you know to ensure that happens.”_

_With that, the man walked away. Jason turned to his MC, who was scratching his chin as he flicked through Brock’s file thoughtfully._

_After a moment of contemplative silence, he turned to him. “Okay. Here’s what you’re gonna do…”_

“So… Brock took out all twelve of those hostiles, without saying a word?”

Vic’s question dragged him from the memory, and he sighed. Evidently, he wasn’t going to hear the rest of that story after all – not if his own mind was going to drift elsewhere on its own reflective journey. 

Rolling his eyes and giving up on his eavesdropping, he gave his surroundings a quick glance as Ray continued his tale. From his position, he could see Clay and Sonny fast asleep; the pair completely dead to the world. He knew the moment someone said their names or tapped their shoulders they’d be alert and ready to go, but for now he was just grateful they could get whatever rest they could. 

It’s not like they’d have much of a chance once they were stateside again.

Moving on with his head count, he couldn’t see Trent’s face from where he was, but he knew his brother well enough that the man was also asleep. Not as deeply as the other two because he shifted every now and again, but it was enough to re-energize the man for what would undoubtedly be a stressful few hours when they landed.

He made a mental note to contact his therapist while they waited for the boys to get out of surgery, to see if the man knew anyone who specialised in the type of PTSD he suspected Trent might soon struggle with.

Vic and Ray were down by the stretchers, and a quick glance over his shoulder put Blackburn, Davis and Mandy by the control center. Everyone was where they should be, and about as relaxed as they could be, given the situation.

The intercom chimed and he looked up, listening to the pilot announce their imminent arrival to VaBeach. Only fifteen minutes to go, and Brock and Metal could get the medical help they desperately needed. As soon as the message ended, he heard Ray instruct Vic to wake them all.

He closed his eyes again, taking a moment to prepare himself for what was to come; because who knew just what the next few hours would bring.

It may or may not have also been an excuse to frighten the kid when he opened his eyes just as Vic was meant to shake him awake.

There was the air of the mysterious and all-knowing Bravo 1 to uphold, after all.

Unfortunately, his plan to startle his newest brother went completely out the window when Ray roared for Trent; and there were several thuds as people sprang to life and fell out of their hammocks – Jason included.

Trent was already beside the stretchers by the time he got there – the man must’ve teleported to get there as quickly as he did - and Jason caught a glimpse of Brock’s monitor before it was blocked by the medical personnel who descended on Bravo 5.

“BP’s dropping!”

“Oxygen levels are dropping too! His stats are going haywire!”

“Shit – his heart rate’s decreasing! Someone get the defib ready!”

Jason shouldered Sonny and Clay aside as he made his way to the front to better see what was happening, dread filling him as he saw Brock’s vitals give one final, valiant waver before falling flat; the monitor that had been beeping worriedly now screaming a shrill, flat line.

“He’s not breathing!”

“How the hell is that possible?!” he demanded, shrugging off the hands that tried to hold him back. “I thought you fixed that!” They couldn’t lose Brock now – not when they were so close.

Carter was bent over Brock’s chest, the stethoscope she’d magically conjured from god knew where pressed against the left side before her attention moved to the tube. “Someone remove those tubes and get the resus bag going; we’re going to need to intubate,” she said, righting herself and looking at her companions. One of the other doctors stepped up and slipped the resus bag back over Brock’s mouth as instructed, pumping steadily while a medic quickly removed the pipes and covered the incisions to stop air escaping.

“It must’ve misplaced, which is why his lung collapsed again,” Carter told her companions. “Possibly occurred during a seizure. That combined with the stress his body is already under may have been too much for his heart to cope with.”

Trent swore viscously as he pulled a pair of gloves on, already grabbing the intubation kit from a nearby bag. “I shoulda kept a closer eye on him!” He growled, his voice wrecked and heavy with self-recrimination. Jason shook his head in frustration. Trust Trent to blame himself for something that was outside of his control. “Danny, call the flight deck! We can’t land just yet, we need to get him stable and the change in air pressure could make things worse!”

“I’m on it,” Blackburn interrupted, having hurried over at the sudden commotion. “I’ll have medical standing by to receive us the moment we land.”

Trent nodded, but didn’t reply – instead preparing the tube that they were going to insert to keep Brock breathing. Jason wanted to say something; reassure his brother that he knew Brock was in the best hands. But then something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he hurried to Metal’s stretcher when he saw the man twitch again.

“Trent!” He yelled over his shoulder and the rapid chatter of the doctors. “Metal’s waking!”

The medic froze momentarily, his eyes shooting to the other stretcher and widening when he saw the movement for himself. “His fucking timing is as impeccable as always,” Trent growled, looking at Danny and nodding to his other patient. “Do what you have to for him,” he ordered before refocusing on Brock. With Carter’s help, he tilted Brock’s head back – and after someone handed him a penlight to ensure the tube went into the right area – slid it carefully down his throat.

“Why’re you intubating him?” Clay asked, neck craning to see and hovering as close as he could without getting in the way. “Trent? What difference will it make?”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Ray added, edging closer.

“Do you need us to… hold a leg or something?”

“Seriously, Sonny?” Clay snapped, looking at Bravo 3 like he’d lost his mind. “A leg? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You do realise it’s his lungs that are the issue? Right?” Vic asked, looking rather confused.

Jason also gave Sonny a weird look before opening his mouth to offer his own support, but the stressed glare on Trent’s face when he looked up made him bite his tongue.

“With all due respect guys, you need to back the fuck off! You’re not helping!” 

“Go sit down boys,” he instructed instead, ignoring the betrayed looks several of his brothers gave him; but he knew it was the right call when Trent’s shoulders relaxed marginally. “Either keep watch from your hammocks, or take a walk.”

“But Jase -”

“That wasn’t a request, Clay.”

With that he turned to Danny, watching as the man peeled one of Metal’s eyelids back and shone a light to test his pupil response. Metal groaned, and lifted a hand to try and swat the intrusion away, which Jason pinned down at the silent directive of the medic.

“Motor and pain response is good,” Danny muttered as he pocketed the penlight before tapping Scott on the least injured side of his face. “Hey, can you tell me your name?”

“F… f…”

Danny leaned closer at the rasp, Scott’s attempt at talking barely audible over the commotion around them. Keeping the pressure on Metal’s arm so he didn’t try and fight them and make any of his injuries worse, Jason leaned in closer as well. “That’s it, come on. What’s your name, brother?”

Scott’s one good eye cracked open enough to glare at them both. “Fu…uck… off.”

He grinned. Danny sniggered as he patted his patient on the shoulder. “Works for me,” the medic said, the relief in his voice palpable. “And now you can go right back to sleep, thanks.”

Metal continued to grumble expletives at them, their mothers and their grandmothers until the sedative Danny had injected into his IV took effect, and Jason muttered a thanks to whatever higher power was watching over them. At least one of his brother’s would pull through the day.

Satisfied nothing further was going to happen to Alpha 1 in the near future, he turned back to the other stretcher. Bile rose, but he managed to swallow it down; the sight of Brock with a tube sticking out of his mouth providing him with enough ammunition for nightmares for weeks to come.

Carter was palpitating Brock’s abdomen, a frown marring her face while Trent set about replacing the blood bag and the saline after ensuring the portable ventilator they had on hand was operating correctly.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” she was saying, fixing Trent with a look Jason knew could only mean trouble. “We don’t have what we need to keep him alive much longer.”

“A change in pressure could make it worse,” Trent argued. “We’ve barely gotten him stable -”

“And he won’t remain that way if we don’t get him the help he needs. Trent,” Carter placed a hand on top of Trent’s, stilling his movement. Jason moved to his brother’s side to listen. “If we don’t land now, it won’t matter what we do. His internal bleeding is worse – his lungs won’t hold out much longer if we don’t get him into surgery. He’ll die.”

When Trent didn’t reply, she turned to him instead. “Sir, please. If you want this man to live -”

Jason looked to Ray; his 2IC was hovering nearby – nearly vibrating with pent up energy. “Call the flight deck; I want this plane on the ground. Now.”

With a nod, Ray sprinted for the phone that would connect him to the pilot. Jason placed a hand on Trent’s shoulder when the medic ducked his head. “Trent, it’s a risk we have to take.”

The medic looked at him, his eyes red rimmed and glassy. “I know,” he replied quietly. “I just… we can’t lose him, Jase.”

“We won’t,” he promised, cupping the back of his brother’s neck – the contact hopefully pulling him from his emotional freefall and grounding him in the here and now. “Just a little longer and he’ll be where he needs to be.”

Ray rejoined him, nodding at his unspoken question. “Pilot’s gunna do a hard landing; get us on the ground ASAP.”

“Alright.” He turned to the rest of his team who had hunkered down in the hammocks to keep an eye on everything, and the doctors who were lingering. “Everyone strap in. We’re coming in hot.”

* * *

The next ten minutes were some of the longest of Jason’s life. He and Trent had thrown themselves into securing Brock’s stretcher while Clay and Ray did the same for Scott’s. No sooner were they tied down than the C-17 banked sharply into its descent; the whirr of mechanics as the landing gear lowered announced their imminent arrival. Thankfully, most of the gear was strapped down as was SOP for the plane; only a few smaller items went flying which were easily deflected if they got too close.

Everyone’s attention was on the two men on the stretchers, eyes glued to their monitors. Either they’d be lucky and both would stay okay long enough to get them into the ambulances Blackburn assured them were waiting, or they’d start crashing – their bodies slowly killing them while the others were helpless to do anything about it.

Metal held in there, as expected.

As they’d dreaded, Brock did not.

The medical team who had been working on Bravo 5 all swore when his vitals started wavering again, but a snapped order from Blackburn kept them in their seats. And as much as it killed Jason that they couldn’t help, he agreed with the decision; being unsecured in a plane of any kind when it was in the final stages of flight could result in severe injuries if the pilot had to abort for any reason.

“Hang in there Brock!” Clay yelled, his face as white as his knuckles. “We’ve almost landed!”

“C’mon little buddy,” Sonny muttered, his eyes glued to his brother. “Just hang in there. Cerb’ll hamstring you if you give up now!”

They all grunted when the plane touched down, the landing more jarring then normal and then braced when then brakes squealed in protest at the sudden deceleration. The moment they felt the plane drop to its taxi speed, Trent and the doctors were out of their seats and swarming the stretcher; yelling at each other as they fought to stabilize him again.

“As soon as that ramp has lowered, get them out of here,” Blackburn yelled, a phone pressed to his ear as he barked orders to the personnel waiting to receive them. “The ambos are waiting for us.” 

Almost on cue, an alarm in the cargo hold started wailing before being quickly silenced. Jason looked around, and realized the alarm was for the ramp that had started to lower – a slight issue considering the C-17 was still moving.

_“Ladies and gents; final stop in thirty seconds. As soon as that ramp is down you’re free to get your boys outta here.”_

“Someone remind me to send that man a bottle of the finest scotch I can find,” he said to Ray, even as he started moving any gear that was in the path of the stretchers out of the way as they headed to the rear of the plane. “He’s gunna get chewed out for lowering that ramp during roll-out.”

“Don’t worry,” Blackburn said as he strode past, Davis and Mandy on his tail. “We’ll be telling command where to stick it if they try haul him over the coals for breaking protocol.”

“Good to know.” He hurried to where the stretchers were now waiting; able to see the roof of an ambulance as the ramp finished lowering. Turning to Brock, he brushed his hand over the man’s head; his touch feather light so as to not cause any more pain. “You gotta hang in there, Brock; you hear me? We can’t lose you.” We need you and won’t cope without you, was his unspoken plea.

The moment the thud of metal meeting concrete sounded, there was a flurry of activity as Trent and the doctors hurried their patients to the ambulances. As expected, Doc was waiting for them; the man quickly joining them and hitting them with rapid fire questions – Trent and Carter answering as best they could. 

Doc motioned for the doors to be opened, and Bravo 5 and 8 were loaded into separate vehicles. Their resident doctor hopped into Brock’s ambulance, while Carter joined Metal. Which left Trent standing there, looking at both his injured brothers - completely lost. With the responsibility taken from him, it was evident he didn’t know what to do next, or where to go. 

“Trent!” Jason turned at Blackburn’s yell to Bravo 4 – as did the rest of his squad. Trent included. “Go with them; we’ll be there as soon as we can!”

“Get in here you dolt!” Doc agreed, sounding exasperated.

A quick nod, followed by a brief glance to his teammates and Trent was in the back of the ambulance; the doors slamming shut behind him and tires squealing as the vehicles raced for the security gates.

“Get your gear,” Blackburn continued – the rest of them faltering at the quiet that suddenly surrounded them. After all the stress they’d been under since the compound, they too were at a bit of a loss of what to do. “A car will drop you off at the cages to dump your bags, shower and grab what you need before we head to the hospital. Knowing you lot, we’ll be there a while.”


	6. Playing the Waiting Game

**A/N: Greetings friends! I hope you guys are all doing well! I'm slowly losing the plot here, but haven't gone completely doodlealley yet! I've been trying to channel my restlessness into writing and oh whoops - I have a new SEAL story planned as soon as this one is done! What a bummer ;)**

**Also, I've been re-watching SEAL team over the last week or so. It's funny; when I first started watching I was solely a Clay fan, but as the show has gone on I found myself liking Brock and Trent more. Now that I'm re-watching, it's interesting to see what they get up too now that I'm focusing on them. Trent has a hell of a lot more lines than I initially thought, and as for Brock: 1x05 has them in Sudan and dealing with civil unrest (and guess who has a Brock related story from that one ;P)** **1x08 he does the hostage pat down- a lovely nod to Justin's police skills -** **1x11 with the nukes, Brock has a few lines in there (totally didn't notice that the first time) and so on. It's actually been quite exciting! I think one of my favourites was 2x15 where Jason and Ray are talking on the plane, then Jason throws something at a sleeping Brock ("he aint even flinching!) and 2x20 when Jason and Ray have their dust up, and Brock yells at Ray to walk it off as he shoves him out the door. Loved it!**

**What are some of your favourites of our secondary boys??  
**

**This chapter isn't what I'd class as a filler as it's important to the story, but when you compare it to the previous chapters then it can certainly be viewed that way. Although to be fair, we are out of the action zone now so it's hard to keep that fast-pace when the characters aren't being shot at! We're nearing the end, which just means more time for new stories ;)**

**Special shout out to:[FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [HallsOfValhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsOfValhalla), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [Jinxie17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxie17), [Lifeshandful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeshandful), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [NyxNight94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNight94), [purplehaz97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [yuckate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 44 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!**

* * *

At the hospital, the hours dragged on. 

When they arrived – changed, barely clean and vibrating with restless energy - a nurse had been waiting for them. She looked a bit startled by the way they charged through the doors in a mini stampede, but handled it like the pro her job made her; with a calm demeanor and understanding smile. 

Once she confirmed who they were there to see, she directed them to the corridor Scott and Brock’s rooms would be post-surgery and told them to wait there. Jason knew that placing wounded brothers in the same area wasn’t proper procedure – some stupid protocol or other that he’d run into multiple times over his career and complained about _every_ time it happened – so the fact both men would be recovering next door to each other made him instantly suspicious. 

When he asked Blackburn about it, the commander simply smirked and said a single phone call prior to their arrival had made it possible. Apparently, he’d spoken with the duty nurse and explained the situation of who was about to come through her doors; and had politely reminded her that keeping a SEAL unit with critically injured men calm would go better for all involved if they didn’t have to roam the hospital to visit their wounded. 

It also meant they wouldn’t cause a fuss or get underfoot if they were bored. 

Not only was the duty nurse a long time placement at the hospital, but she was also very familiar with handling stressed SEALs. With a couple of taps to her keyboard, the room placement was approved; explaining to the interning students and younger nurses that were listening to the conversation that doing as she was asked meant no headaches for anyone else. 

So, here they were. 

Lisa turned up not long after they’d gotten settled. She’d arrived at the hospital with the doctors they’d rescued so they could be evaluated, and left them with a couple of the base's HR personnel; having been held hostage as long as they had been, there’d be a few officials wanting to talk to them for the next few hours before they could go back home to their families. 

She’d also brought fresh sandwiches, water, Gatorade’s and several bars of chocolate packed into a bag for them. One look from her had any protests of not being hungry bitten back, and they dutifully ate what they were given under her watchful eye. 

Clay received a clip over the ears when he tried to hide his food; his weak protests about being too stressed to eat promptly ignored and silenced under threat of being force fed. Ray and Sonny quietly removed the chocolate they’d put in their pockets and proceeded to eat the bars when she looked at them to prove they weren’t hiding anything. 

Somewhere around hour three or four – although to be completely honest it could also have been five, everything was that muddled for Jason - the doors swung open to make way for a gurney. They all jumped to their feet the moment they saw Trent trailing behind, and they crowded as close as they could without getting in the way to see who it was. 

As he’d expected, it was Full Metal. 

The man was hooked up to numerous wires and monitors, with an oxygen mask over his mouth and gauze or stitches covering any visible wounds. He was still unconscious, but he looked better than when they’d last seen him. 

A nurse pushed open the doors to Scott’s room, and he turned to Trent; knowing his brother was still breathing Jason was content move his attention elsewhere before they all went to see their teammate. 

Trent had stopped at the doorway, watching as Metal was rolled into his room. Jason frowned worriedly when the medic bowed his head and leaned against the doorframe for a second before turning to the rest of his team. His posture was slumped and his expression hollow; the look aging him several years. His reaction didn’t match what they’d just seen; Metal was alive. He should be relieved.

His stomach dropped when he understood with sickening, startling clarity what it meant. They’d lost Brock. 

“No.” 

It felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him, and he leaned against the wall heavily for support. Despite everything they’d done, every effort that had been made… it hadn’t been enough. Brock Reynolds, Bravo’s number Five – their canine handler, driving expert, ninja assassin and inherent trouble maker… their solid, dependable rock and the very soul of their team… was gone. 

He felt sick. And he was helpless to watch as the others realized it, too. 

“Oh God,” Ray muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair and his eyes welling up. “Shit.” 

Clay dropped heavily into a chair, turning several shades paler while Sonny slid slowly down the wall beside him. Vic bowed his head, offering up a prayer for the brother he’d been hoping to get to know better once this whole mess was over. Instead, he’d have to make do with learning about him from the others while quietly mourning the opportunity he’d lost; that of making a good friend and a close brother. 

Lisa and Blackburn looked at each other, expressions pained and hearts heavy at the loss of their friend; the one they knew they could always rely on for valuable insight and to help keep the wilder members of the team in check. 

There were few souls in the world who were as good as Brock Reynolds. 

Confusion crossed Trent’s face when he looked at them, before his eyes widened suddenly. “Shit. No, guys – sorry. Brock’s still in surgery. Alive, last I heard.” 

The grief that had flooded the corridor – blanketing and smothering everything it touched evaporated quickly; gasps and watery, giddy huffs of laughter escaping them all when they realized they could breathe again. 

“Christ almighty Trent,” Sonny groused, thumping Clay on the leg in frustration. Clay winced and kicked him back. “Frighten the shit outta us, why don’t you?” 

“What’d you smack _me_ for?” 

“Vic’s too far away for me to hit.” 

“The fuck?” Vic grunted, folding his arms over his chest. “What’d I do?” 

“You’re the youngest.” 

“That doesn’t even make any sense, Sonny,” Lisa tutted, swiping at her eyes before clipping the Texan over the head as she made her way to the medic. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Trent apologized again, scrubbing his face with a hand while taking a bottle from Lisa when she offered it. “I was trying to hide how tired I was.” 

“Then we need to get you some acting classes Trent, shit.” Jason shook his head, confirmed his heart had restarted before dumping himself in the closest chair. That adrenaline dump had left him _exhausted._

“Probably,” Bravo 4 laughed tiredly, before draining half the bottle in one go. “It’s been… a long few hours.” 

“You were with Metal?” Clay asked, resting his head against the wall as he peered at the medic. “I thought you would have stayed with Brock.” 

“Doc wouldn’t let me.” Trent’s words were bitter as he unwrapped the sandwich he was given and took a mouthful, chewing and swallowing quickly. “I wanted to stay with him, argued with Doc until I was blue in the face if I’m honest – but he told me to either stay with Metal, or join you guys and wait for news on them both.” 

“Why in the hell would Doc pry you away from our boy?” Sonny asked, disbelieving. “Just who the hell does he think he is to make that call?” 

Trent grunted irritably. “We may agree on most things, Doc and I; but as he pointed out - when we have guys in hospital I have to defer to him. Believe me, I’m not happy about it either.” Another aggressive bite, then a muffled, “I should be with him.”

Jason winced. If Trent had had his way, he would have been assisting with the surgery to make sure everyone did everything they could for his best friend. The fact that Doc had put his foot down and forced Trent completely away from Brock’s side would need to be addressed quickly, because it would likely result in a full blown argument if Trent got to Doc before he did.

Sucked to be Doc right now, because Jason planned to demand an explanation for his actions when everything had settled down. No one upset his medic without a damned good reason.

Before any of them could comment on the unexpected turn of events further, the doctor who had accompanied Metal’s stretcher came back into the corridor and looked at them all. “I take it one of you is this man’s CO?” 

“That’d be me,” Blackburn replied, moving forward so he could stand in front of the doctor. “How’s he doing?” 

“Mr Carter has a fair bit of healing to do, but with the right recovery plan in place I see no reason he shouldn’t return to active service.” 

“Oh thank god,” Jason muttered, covering his eyes for a moment. Scott would never have forgiven them for saving his life if it resulted in him being medically discharged. The man was born to serve, not sit on the sidelines or in retirement unless _he_ chose to be there. “How bad was he?” 

The doctor looked to Blackburn, and when he nodded the surgeon went into further detail. “Courtesy of the triage assessment one of the doctors who arrived with him gave us, we were able to treat him quickly. We’ve confirmed the broken ribs, and have taken precautions to ensure they’ll heal as well as they can; we’re hopeful surgery to reinforce them won’t be needed, but we’ll assess that in a few days. The internal bleeding was relatively minor, and was easily repairable, as were the GSW’s. Everything else was flesh wounds, and the nurses are tending to that now.” 

A pager beeped, and the man checked it before pocketing the device again. “He’s been started on a round of antibiotics to help fight infection, but we’re withholding painkillers until he’s conscious and we can reassess his brain activity. Once we’ve done that, we’ll medicate him as needed.” 

Jason nodded along. Everything he was hearing was positive, which was a relief. Metal was going to hate his guts come rehab time, because he was going to ensure the man did _everything_ he was ordered to do so he got back out in the field. “Any reason he stopped breathing?” That was probably his biggest worry now, one that he needed to ensure wouldn’t cause concern later down the track. 

“He stopped breathin’?” Sonny muttered, confused. Jason frowned before remembering the others hadn’t been privy to that bit of information. 

“Initial tests haven’t revealed the cause for that, so I’d hazard a guess it would have something to do with the blow to the head he took. He’s booked in for an MRI which should be in the next hour or so, so we’ll know more once the results come in; but from the briefing I received regarding the situation, hypoxia shouldn’t be of any concern.” 

One of the nurses left the room, and the doctor waved them forward. “You can see him now. Like I said, Mr Carter is in for a long recovery, but if he does everything by the book he’ll be back out in the field in no time.” 

“Glad to hear it doc, thank you,” Blackburn said, rolling his eyes at the stampede that passed him while shaking the man’s hand. “When should we expect an update on my other man?” 

It was hard fitting five SEALs through a single door at once – Trent was busy rolling his eyes as he watched his brothers while eating his sandwich - but their attempt to all get in the room at the same time ceased at the question; all heads turning to the doctor once again. 

“My understanding of the other patient is that his condition was critical when he arrived,” he replied. “Beyond that, I’m not sure - so I’d say you still have a wait ahead of you, at the very least. I’ll make some enquiries and will get someone to update you as soon as they can.” 

“Appreciate it.” 

The doctor nodded before heading back the way he came. Blackburn turned to his men, and sighed. “You jackasses going to continue staring, or actually enter the room and let the poor nurse out?” 

Five SEALs about-faced, and sure enough found a nurse standing beside Metal’s bed waiting patiently. 

“Don’t mind me,” she laughed as they all shuffled past her awkwardly. “This’ll be the most entertainment I get all day, so take your time.” 

There were several mutters of apology as they cleared the doorway, and the nurse gave Blackburn a sunny smile as she wandered off. 

“Well that was embarrasin’,” Sonny grumbled, grabbing a chair and dropping down into it. “Can’t hit on that nurse now.” 

“She isn’t gunna be pawed by you? I’m sure she’ll be devastated,” Lisa replied, deadpan. 

“She should be.” 

“Now that we’ve got one of the boys back, Davis I want you to get this lot started on their AARs,” Blackburn said, overriding Sonny’s continued mumbling. “I don’t want to hear it,” he told them when several members of Bravo started protesting. “You’re sitting here with nothing else to do, so you might as well get it done. I’m going to go check up on the people we rescued and I’ll see if I can find Doc, get an update.” 

“Do you mind if I come with you?” Trent asked, his voice filled with more life than it had been when he’d arrived. Obviously the calories were hitting his system in a much needed way. “I’d like to speak to them – thank them for helping me keep the boys alive.” 

Blackburn nodded. “You’ll probably have a better idea of where they are, so lead the way.” 

“Typical, the medic always misses out on the paperwork,” Sonny grumbled as the pair left the room, wincing when Lisa, Ray and Jason smacked him over the head. None of them gentle. “Ow! You could give me a brain injury!” 

“Don’t you already have a brain injury?” Vic asked, smirking. He gave Clay the high five he offered while Sonny flipped them the bird, then laughed when the Texan threw himself out of his chair to avoid another smack to the head by Davis’ for his rudeness. 

“Blackburn, a quick word?” Jason said. Trent looked between the pair before nodding and slipping out into the corridor to wait. Not having many places to go, he moved to the corner of the room and turned his back on his still bickering brothers for some privacy, satisfied when his CO did the same.

“I’m guessing this’ll have something to do with keeping Doc and Trent separated?” Blackburn asked quietly.

Jason nodded, pleased Eric had picked up on the same issue he had. “Doc woulda had a reason for keeping Trent away from Brock’s surgery,” he replied, voice just as low. “But I don’t want Trent demanding an explanation right now. He’s exhausted, worried and likely second-guessing himself, so he won’t be thinking clearly and certainly won’t listen to reason. I’d rather he didn’t say or do something he’ll regret later down the track.”

Blackburn nodded. “I hear you,” he said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “The bonus of being the one in charge is that I get privileges and access to places others don’t. I’ll handle this, don’t worry.”

That took a weight of Jason’s shoulders, and he nodded. When the time came, he’d be able to control the confrontation between the pair, and would be able to talk Trent down if and when needed. It was just a matter of making sure he was there for it in the first place.

Eric left the room, and Jason turned back to his unit – sighing before joining them at the table. Report time. Oh joy.

* * *

Blackburn and Trent hadn’t returned by the time someone came to get Metal for his scan, and with the AAR’s finished and officially submitted to Davis the group ended up playing poker to pass the time; using the bags of skittles Clay had fetched from a vending machine down the hall. 

Metal was returned to his room half an hour later. Still unconscious, but the nurse said she’d given him something that would wake him in the next hour or so for the next round of tests. 

Still no Brock, Trent or Blackburn. 

A nurse came in, checked on them and her patient. Left again. 

Still no one appeared. 

Sonny won a large pool of skittles, Clay accused him of counting cards. Vic got his hand slapped by Jason for eating from his pile. Vic retaliated by throwing a half chewed skittle at Bravo 1, then blanched when he realized what he’d done. Lisa nearly snorted soda out her nose at the horror on Vic’s face, Ray thumped her on the back while reminding Vic that if Jason was going to get offended by a half-eaten skittle to the face, then the man probably needed to retire. Jason penalized Vic five purple skittles for his offense, then ate them deliberately just to piss his youngest brother off. Ray wondered if he’d have to get between the pair. 

“Christ almighty,” Sonny groused, ignoring the bickering between Bravo 1 and 7 opposite him and looking at his watch. “It’s been an hour since Metal got brought back in – where in the hell are Blackburn and Trent? What, they forget there’s a sick man in this room?” 

“They were checking on Brock and the docs we rescued,” Jason reminded him with a kick to the shin. “Obviously it’s taking a while; Eric’ll be fielding questions from them and the authorities. Take a chill pill.” 

“Closest I got is these here green skittles,” Sonny retorted, deliberately eating two from Clay’s pile and giving the blond the finger when he protested. “And they ain’t helpin’.” 

“Fu…n green sk..les.” 

Five SEALs and one Ensign froze - gaping at each other momentarily before they all scrambled from their seats to Full Metal’s bed. 

The man’s non-swollen eye was blinking at the ceiling, his expression groggy and somewhat pained. Without anyone prompting, Ray pressed the call button to summon the nurse; the sooner she appeared, the sooner Scott could get some much needed pain relief in him. 

Jason moved to the head of the bed, nudging the others out of the way so his friend could see him. Tapping Metal’s arm carefully so as not to hurt him but to also draw his attention, he gave Scott a smile when he looked at him. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” 

“Like I g’t… bl’wn up.” 

“That’s probably the only thing that _didn’t_ happen to you,” he laughed, relieved at how quickly Metal was becoming coherent. “Sorry man.” 

“Yeah,” Sonny drawled from the foot of the bed. “Shot, beaten, road rashed, stopped breathin’… You didn’t finish off the devils pentagon with blown up there, buddy. You should be ashamed of yerself.” 

Despite the numerous wires and the pain he was in, Metal still managed to flip him the bird. He barely got his fingers off the mattress, and it was more a twitch of the digits than anything, but Jason was proud of the effort nonetheless. Yeah, Metal would be fine. 

“More’n you done onna miss’n, Quinn,” Scott slurred, and everyone sniggered at Sonny’s spluttering. “Wh’app’d? Wh’res Br’ck?” 

The door opened, and they all shuffled out of the way when the nurse walked in with a tray, Blackburn and Trent right behind her. 

“You guys have good timing,” Clay said, impressed at the sudden appearance of their CO and medic. “He’s been awake, what? A minute?” 

Trent smirked, his expression exhausted but there was still a hint of amusement. “We were already on our way back. Lisa text, told us he was awake.” 

The SEALs in the room looked at her, and Davis shrugged. “They’d have wanted to know.” 

“And Davis was right,” Blackburn agreed. “Now, how about you boys step out, let Trent and the nurse do what they need to and I’ll fill you in on what I know.” 

Jason was torn. On the one hand, he didn’t want to leave Metal’s side – Alpha 1 hated hospitals as much as the rest of them and leaving him alone felt a bit like betrayal - but on the other hand Eric had news on Brock; news they were all desperate for.

There was a moment of indecisiveness on his part, but eventually he started hustling the boys out of the room. Trent would be with Metal, so he wasn’t entirely alone, and he and the nurse would likely have his attention for a while running their tests; so he doubted his brother would miss their presence all that much.

Of course, they could have just spoken in his room, but considering Metal’s injuries were the result of whatever he and Bravo 5 had been through, Jason knew it was best he didn’t accidentally overhear something until he was more lucid and could better process whatever Eric had to say.

“We’ll be right outside,” he told Scott, patting his arm gently. “Wait until you’re feeling better before you hit on the nurse, yeah?” 

“B’e me,” Metal slurred back, but he was already turning his attention to her and Trent. 

Satisfied he was okay for the time being, Jason followed the others from the room. He was the last out, so he didn’t miss the relief in Trent’s “you’re a sight for sore eyes,” as he greeted his brother, and smiled. At least with Metal, Trent could see his efforts had had a positive outcome. 

Closing the door behind him, he frowned when Blackburn motioned for them to follow him down the hall to the room set aside for Brock. 

“Well this ain’t good,” Sonny muttered as they entered. “Give it to us straight, Blackburn. Is Brock even alive?” 

“Reynolds is alive,” Blackburn replied once they were all together, much to everyone’s relief. “It was touch and go at the start, and he crashed not long after they started surgery, but they got him back. They’re still operating; Doc said he’ll likely be in theatre for another couple hours at least – there was quite a bit of damage and they’re going slowly to make sure they don’t miss anything.” 

“Shit that kid has some luck,” Sonny said, rubbing his eyes and Jason didn’t miss the way the Texan’s hand shook. “How long till we see him?” 

“I don’t know,” Eric said, putting everyone on alert. “His condition is critical, which means it may be some time before he can have visitors. Doc said he couldn’t give me anything until he’s spoken to the surgeon, so I’m still in the dark. What I do know – and I’m sure you’d all worked out already – is that Brock’s going to be out of action for the foreseeable future. We need to sort a short term plan until we know more.” 

“I’ll take Cerb,” Clay said immediately, and Jason nodded in agreement. “I’ll take Brock too once he’s released. They’ll need to be together, and he’ll need help.” 

“Are you sure?” Blackburn asked, “About taking Cerberus? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you just how important his training is, and I’m sure there are other K-9 handlers who can take him if you can’t.” 

Unlike Jason, Eric didn’t know about the time the younger Bravo pair spent together with Cerb at the training grounds; while their CO knew a lot about them, he couldn’t know everything. Before Clay could feel insulted by the question, he cuffed the blond on the back of the head with a smile. “Brock and Cerb have spent a lot of time training Clay,” he said, smirking when Bravo 6 tutted at his choice of words. “I’ve seen some of the work they’ve done together, he’ll be fine.” 

“Besides, Brock put together a training guide for me when we first started to help me understand the commands and what he does. We’ll be sweet. And that way I can bring Cerb when I come to visit.” 

Blackburn nodded. Their canine’s training had been one of his biggest concerns – he hadn’t wanted anyone but a Bravo member housing Cerb for fear of being overridden if the new trainer was ordered to take their dog on a mission somewhere. The hair missile was also family, and would be heartbroken if he was separated from the ones he knew. If he’d had to, he would have taken Cerberus himself; his wife would’ve jumped at the chance to spend time with and train her favorite dog. “Alright then. Davis?” 

“I’ll sort access for Clay to the K-9 training grounds,” she said, pulling out her phone and tapping away. She knew Clay only got in with a visitor pass when Brock took him, and with Brock out of commission he’d need to be able to access it whenever he wanted. “I’ll also arrange for a couple of bags of Cerb’s food to be sent to his place to tide you over till we know more.” 

Clay nodded his thanks. The food all the active working dogs received was of the highest quality and specifically ordered through the military to ensure they got priority, no matter where they were in the world. A couple years back, Brock set up a charity with the supplier so that for every five bags that were purchased, the company would donate a bag to the retired working dog charities. The company had jumped at the idea, and since then they’d assisted veterans in feeding their dogs. Just another sign of Brock’s golden heart. 

“We also need to notify his next of kin,” Blackburn continued. “They’ll need to know he’s in hospital, and will want to visit him -”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Lisa said, her fingers flying over her screen.

“- I got someone from admin to pull his file, and Brock had nominated Trent on his CACO form a while back. If it’s alright with you Jase, once we know what’s happening I’d preferred you contacted them instead.”

Jason blinked. “You’re overriding his CACO form?” He had no issue with doing the call himself, in fact he felt obligated to do so, but it was highly unusual for someone’s nominated person to be changed without permission of the injured party.

“Is that even allowed?” Ray added.

“It’s not normally, no,” Blackburn conceded, “but Trent has enough on his plate. I’d like to try make his life a bit easier if I can.”

He couldn’t argue with that, and nodded. Besides, Brock’s parents always treated them as their own children whenever they were in town, so he highly doubted they’d care who made the call, just that it was one of their son’s brothers and not some stranger. “Davis, send me their numbers when you have them?” He’d forgotten to add their numbers after he’d upgraded his phone last year, and had yet to follow it up with Brock.

“Already in your phone,” Lisa shot back, smirking. Damn, but she was good.

“Thanks. What about Metal’s?”

“He hadn’t specified anyone, so I’ll handle it.”

Jason shrugged. That was fine by him. “Anything else you can tell us?”

“I spoke with the doctors we rescued, and they’re in good spirits – all things considered. They’ve all said they’d like to meet us again when everyone is healed to say thank you, and have asked me to keep them updated on the lads’ recoveries.”

“That normal?” Vic asked.

Blackburn shook his head. “Not usually, but as they said; they’re used to being the ones saving lives – they just haven’t needed saving in the process. Brock and Metal put their lives on the line for them, you all did, so they want to see you when everyone is capable of meeting them.”

“Sounds good.” Normally it was something he’d turn down – claim they were too busy or spun up for a mission and would let the idea die, but as these doctors had fought to keep his brothers’ alive, the desire to say thanks went both ways.

“Alrighty,” Eric said, his attention on the hallway and he raised a hand in acknowledgment when Trent stuck his head out the door. “Unless I’m mistaken, there appeared to be a poker match going on in Metal’s room; care to deal me in?”

“And miss out on the chance to steal all your skittles?” Sonny replied, leading the way back to the other room. “Blackburn, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Remind me who wiped you out last time we played, Quinn?”

Jason sniggered at the catcall’s the others gave Bravo 3 as Eric smirked, unbearably smug, while Sonny tried to defend himself. The news on Brock was non-existent for now, but he was still breathing, and that was all that mattered.

Hopefully they’d know more soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised not everyone may know what some of the military acronyms might be (I myself had to google a couple of them) so I thought I'd put them here for anyone who wanted to know! In no particular story order:
> 
> AAR - After Action Report  
> CACO - Casualty Assistance Calls Officer  
> CO - Commanding Officer  
> GCS - Glasgow Coma Scale/Score  
> GSW - Gun Shot Wound  
> HAHO - High Altitude – High Opening  
> LZ - Landing Zone  
> SOP - Standard Operating Procedure  
> TOC - Tactical Operations Center


	7. Slow is Smooth, Smooth is Fast

**A/N: Greetings! How are we all getting on? Despite the fact I have all this extra time to do my assignments for a uni correspondence course I chose to do this year, I have zero motivation to do them. I'm getting to the point of plagiarizing my own assignments to answer the remainder of my assignments. Oh boy. I managed to do a bit of work on one of them today, but when it's a toss-up between uni or writing for you lovely people, what do you think I'd prefer! XD**

**This chapter... ho boy... she's a bit of a monster! But there was a lot to cover and while I could've split it into two chapters, I really wanted to keep it as one as it felt more appropriate. There's a bit of action in this - so I promise it's not 8.6k+ words of background emotions, although it kinda is :P I still hope you guys enjoy it! We've got one, maybe two more chapters to go - so nearly at the end!**

**I feel like it's necessary to once again point out I have zero medical training - most of the 'medical talk' is stuff that I've researched (briefly, oh so briefly), or learned from other fanfiction I've read! While I'm hoping it's at least somewhat accurate for realism purposes, this is just a story at the end of the day, so I can embellish a little if I need to :)**

**And can I please just take a moment to point out the lovely surprise of a shirtless Brock in this week's episode?! Thank you Max T - according to Justin's live instagram video today with one of the writers, it was completely unscripted; for those who missed it, Justin had just finished eating a burrito when Max yelled at him to take his shirt off. So, thank you Max. The Brock fans greatly appreciate it! Also, interesting to note, there were a tonne of people asking for more Trent and Brock lines which Spencer (the writer) was very open to, so hopefully we see more of that next season!**

**Special shoutout to[FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [HallsOfValhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsOfValhalla), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [Jinxie17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxie17), [Lifeshandful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeshandful), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [NyxNight94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNight94), [purplehaz97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [yuckate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 49 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!! **

* * *

Four rounds of poker and five new bags of skittles later, Doc entered the corridor with a woman in scrubs by his side.

Jason was the first to spot their arrival, but it still took a second or so for him to process just _who_ he was seeing. When he did he set his cards down, slapped Ray and Blackburn on the shoulder and stood – checking to confirm Metal was still asleep before he headed for the door.

There was the shuffle of feet as the others followed him, and as Eric had done earlier he motioned for everyone to head to Brock’s designated room. When he got there, he entered quietly and went over to the camp bed set up by the window to give Trent’s shoulder a gentle shake. Lisa had somehow arranged for one to be sent up not long after Blackburn’s debrief; and the moment it had arrived his brother had once again been ordered to bed.

Thankfully, the medic’s adrenaline crash hit around the same time, so Trent had more or less passed out the moment he was horizontal. His rest was much needed, and Jason felt like shit having to wake him, but he had no choice.

“Trent?”

There was a grumpy groan of protest, before a muzzy-eyed Bravo 4 half sat up. “Boss?”

He nodded over his shoulder to the other people entering the room, and when Trent realized who he was looking at he was upright immediately. With a clap to his brother’s shoulder, he turned to face the new arrivals; angling himself so he was just in front of Trent to stop his medic from getting anywhere near Doc.

The tension that appeared in Bravo 4’s shoulders the moment he’d spotted the base medic was evident, and Jason wanted to know what was happening before any shouting matches started. “You’ve got an update for us?”

“Gentlemen, this is Dr. Jessica Bradley; the lead surgeon who treated Brock,” Doc said by way of greeting. “Dr. Bradley, this is Bravo team.”

She smiled at them. “I won’t bother with pleasantries, as I know you’ll be wanting answers. The good news is that Mr Reynolds is alive,” she said, nodding when there was a collective sigh of relief. “Despite a few hiccoughs at the start, his surgery went well. He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

“What’s the bad news?” Trent asked, his voice firm and politely demanding answers.

“You’re the medic who triaged him, yes?” as Jason was standing in front of him, he assumed Trent nodded in reply. “What you and the others did for him is what saved his life,” Bradley continued. “No matter what happens from here on out, you should be proud. By all accounts, Mr Reynolds should be dead – without you, he would be.”

Jason heard Trent swallow heavily, and he shuffled sideways so he could place a hand on the medic’s shoulder. “What’s the bad news?” he asked again, his question quieter but no less firm than Trent’s had been.

“The bad news is that while his condition is currently stable, he’s also critical. Unfortunately, the collapsed lung and subsequent reflation has resulted in the early onset of pneumonia, and several of his wounds were showing obvious signs of sepsis when he arrived. He remains on a ventilator for the time being, and we’ve started him on an aggressive course of antibiotics to try and get a handle on both problems before they take hold.”

“Damn,” Ray muttered, ducking his head for a moment before inhaling deeply to steel himself. “Did you treat him in time to help, you think?”

“Because of the nature of the wounds, and how quickly sepsis set in, it’s hard to say,” Dr. Bradley replied. “He’s not out of the woods yet, and because of this we’ll be moving him to the ICU once he’s finished in post-op.”

“The ICU?” Jason shared a look with Trent. “He’s that bad?”

“You boys need to understand that his immune system is incredibly weak right now,” Doc told them, “and there’s the very real risk major organs will shut down if the infection spreads faster than the meds can fight it. It’s why you won’t be permitted to stay with him while he’s in there.”

“You’re kidding,” Clay said, looking as shocked as the rest of them. “He’ll need us.”

“ICU is no laughing matter,” Bradley interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument, but her expression was sympathetic. “No-one beyond authorized staff is permitted in there because you could very well bring in – through no fault of your own - airborne contaminants that could establish in not just him, but our other patients, and could kill them. While I appreciate the desire to be with your teammate, Mr Reynolds will be in an induced coma until we’ve seen signs of recovery. He won’t know you’re not there.”

“Shit.” Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. Even though the news sounded positive, it just seemed like the situation was going from bad to worse. “How long will he be in the ICU?”

“The next seventy two hours will tell us more. If his vitals remain strong and he responds well to his medication, we’ll review the situation.”

“What about hypoxia?” Trent asked quietly. “His head injury, ribs, pierced lungs and all that?”

“What’s the best case scenario we’re looking at?” Blackburn added.

“The seizures were a result of the blows to the head as you’d suspected,” Bradley told Trent. “The swelling on the brain is another reason we’re keeping him in a coma and in the ICU. We’ll be monitoring him closely over the next twenty four hours and running regular scans to see if there’s any sign of improvement – if not, we’ll look at operating to reduce the pressure. If the swelling does improve by itself, it raises the chances of a full recovery.

“As for the rest of his injuries, only time will tell. We’ve increased his O2 levels to try and counteract any long term effects the hypoxia may have, and will monitor it closely. We’ve repaired his lungs and set his ribs - both procedures went well but his pneumonia will likely cause complications if we can’t cure it quickly. His spleen had ruptured - that was the internal bleeding you identified, by the way – and has been repaired; it was a slow bleed and wasn’t as badly damaged as we’d initially suspected, so there was no need to remove it. The remaining injuries were all treated accordingly.

“As for the best case scenario? While I always remain optimistic about my patients recoveries, at the end of the day how well they heal is up to them. If everything goes well, and Mr Reynolds continues to fight through this then there’s every possibility he’ll return to the field in the future. If his body is unable to cope with some of the injuries it sustained, or there are unforeseen complications; he’ll likely be faced with a medical discharge, or will be retired to a desk job. You should also know that while I’m not overly concerned about a TBI for the moment, I’m also realistic that he may have suffered one which could affect his return to the field. But that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we come to it.”

“What it means is that, barring any unforeseen complications, Reynolds recovery is up to him,” Doc summarized for them. “I have no intention of writing him off just yet, but you all need to be prepared for the fact he may never recover enough to return to Bravo.”

“Like the Doc said, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Sonny drawled, his expression suspiciously blank. It was a look Jason was well familiar with – one the Texan often used when he was trying to hide his emotions. Sonny would probably flip his lid if he found out it only worked part of the time.

“I know you said we can’t be with him in the ICU, but is there any chance we can look in on him quickly? Through the window or something?” Vic asked, his voice hopeful. Jason turned to his youngest brother, surprised. He hadn’t thought of finding a way around their barred entry.

Dr Bradley looked at Vic thoughtfully, before nodding. “As long as you’re not there too long, I don’t see an issue with it. He’ll be by the doors for convenience sake, so that will give you a clear view of him. I’ll go let the head nurse know to fetch you once he’s settled, excuse me.” And with that, she removed herself from the room.

Before the door had a chance to close fully, Doc was crossing his arms and looking at Trent knowingly. “I’m well aware that you’re dying to rip into me,” he told the medic calmly, “so I’ll save you your breath. The reason I removed you from Brock’s surgery was simple; he’d have come back and haunted my ass if I’d let you sit there and watch your best friend die while you were alone. I couldn’t do that to you Trent; I know you did everything you could to save him on that plane – but I also know that sometimes the best isn’t enough.”

He stepped forward and squeezed Trent’s shoulder, and Jason could see the moment the medic accepted what he was being told. His shoulders slumped, his whole posture did and he ducked his head, swallowing heavily.

Yeah. He needed to organise that therapist ASAP.

“I didn’t want you being alone if he didn’t pull through; you didn’t deserve that.”

“Thanks Doc,” Trent rasped, and Jason placed a hand on the back of Trent’s neck once again. Unsurprisingly, the man leaned into the contact. “I don’t like it, but… I get it.”

Doc nodded, before looking at the rest of them. “While we’re waiting, does anyone have any injuries that they’d like to disclose; or did the rest of you somehow miraculously avoid getting hurt on your last mission?”

“Check them over anyway,” Lisa told the base doctor, and the gathered SEALs frowned at her. “Don’t look at me like that; you said in your AARs that there was an explosion right in front of you, and you were all covered in debris from part of the roof caving in. You need to be checked for dust inhalation at the least, and maybe concussions.”

“Oh c’mon Davis,” Sonny whined, only to dance out of the way of her striking hand. “What’d you have to go and say that for?”

“That so?” Blackburn said, looking at Jason unimpressed. “Just because we didn’t have ISR over the area doesn’t mean you get to fob off a medical assessment.”

Shit. He’d been so worried about his brothers that the events surrounding his own part of the mission had become a blur. “Honestly, I’d forgotten that even happened,” he replied defensively, narrowing his eyes when Blackburn and Doc looked at each other.

“Concussion,” they said in unison, not bothering to conceal their smirks.

It was his turn to protest. “Oh come on!”

“Come here Hayes.”

“Damn it Lisa!”

* * *

Aside from a few bumps and grazes, Doc gave them a clean bill of health.

Jason had expected at least one of them to have something wrong, but Doc had cleared them all; although he did warn them that if anyone had breathing issues he was to be informed _immediately_ , as dust inhalation could create some serious issues very quickly if ignored.

With their assessments completed, it was back to the poker table. Doc waved off their invite to join straight away, and instead read through Metal’s medical sheet before running a few basic tests of his own to satisfy his curiosity.

Another hour or so passed – honestly, Jason had well and truly lost track of the time, but was only made aware of it whenever Sonny started griping about his butt going numb – when a nurse came to fetch them.

Not wanting to leave Metal alone completely, Doc volunteered to remain behind; as their designated medical professional, he’d already received permission to assist with Brock’s stint in the ICU when he wasn’t required on base – which meant he’d be able to see Bravo 5 whenever he wanted. Jason was happy with that – the fact that at least someone Brock knew would have access to him set his mind at ease – and so they all trundled off after the nurse.

She brought them to the window that looked into the ICU unit, and they all stood there in a solemn line as they peered into the room. As Dr Bradley had promised, Brock was closest to the access door, which meant it was only a thick pane of glass that separated them.

What they saw painted a morbid picture. Since Brock had joined Bravo, none of them had known him to been so still; and it was disconcerting to see it now. There was a multitude of tubes surrounding the head of the bed, with one down his throat and a ventilator methodically pumping oxygen into his lungs. The IV drip had both blood and saline bags connected so as to help replace what he’d lost during his surgery. Wires connected to his finger and his chest helped the monitors keep track of his vitals, and even though they couldn’t hear the beeping Jason knew it was there – could imagine the noise reflecting the screen’s display of his brother’s steady heartbeat.

Despite it all, seeing everything that was helping keep their brother with them - Brock looked small. Ashen.

Fragile.

He swallowed and looked away. Brock was the fittest of their group, built like a damn mountain goat and as agile as… hell. Anything really. The man often performed gravity defying maneuvers when the situation called for it and promptly scared the shit out of them each time. Once he was safely on the ground, he then proceeded to laugh while the more senior members of the team flapped around in a panic, checking him for injuries. It drove him, Ray and Trent absolutely bonkers whenever it happened, it was so rare; and yet he had the audacity to laugh himself sick at their reactions every time.

Brock wasn’t laughing now, wasn’t doing anything except fighting to survive. The way he looked… it wasn’t natural. And that scared him.

A quick glance to the others, and it was obvious they were just as disturbed by what they could see. Movement at the corner of his eye revealed the nurse who had brought them there, waiting patiently for them to finish.

“Come on boys,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

“Hang in there buddy,” Sonny muttered, placing his hand on the glass. “We’re here for you, just keep fighting for us.”

“We need you man,” Clay added, placing his hand exactly where Sonny’s had been when he pulled away.

Then the remainder of their group, one at a time with Jason last, placed their hand there too. It might mean nothing to the nurses, but it meant everything to them.

They were with Brock until the end, no matter what that end might be.

* * *

With each day that passed, Jason’s hopes grew a little more.

The first twenty four hours dragged on, despite the fact that most of them had left the hospital. Sonny had volunteered to take the first shift with Metal, well aware the others had other responsibilities or families to see, and so they’d left him to it; Lisa promising to replace him in four hours.

Clay headed straight for the kennel’s and fetched Cerberus; and it had been a kick to the gut to see Cerb go from excited to solemn in the blink of an eye. He’d obviously known there was something wrong when it wasn’t Brock who collected him; and he spent the entire trip to the cages, then to Clay’s apartment whining softly.

It damn near broke Clay’s heart.

Cerberus wouldn’t eat, didn’t want to play… he just sat by the door crying quietly. Eventually, Clay picked the dog up and carried him to his room, cuddling him close while murmuring reassurances in the pup’s ear that he’d get to see his partner soon.

If the cuddling was also used to mask the tears of worry that slipped free? Well, he figured his secret was safe with his canine companion.

On his way home, Jason called Brock’s parents. As expected, Mrs Reynolds handled it with the usual stoicism that she did whenever her son was injured. Her breathing had been shaky when he told her the injuries were serious, the worst he’d had since becoming a SEAL, in fact - but she’d remained upbeat and told him that she and her husband would be there within the day. Thankfully they and Brock’s siblings lived relatively close to Virginia Beach – they’d all wanted to be close to where he was stationed so they could see him when he was home – so making the drive wouldn’t be much of an issue.

With the promise of seeing them soon, Jason ended the call and took a moment before dialing Dr. Connors – wanting someone at the hospital before he switched out with Trent. He wouldn’t let his brother stew on the ‘what if’s’ any longer than necessary, and he’d damn well hogtie the man if he had too to get him to talk.

Taking a longer shift while Trent got the help he needed was fine by him; it’s not like there was somewhere else he wanted to be, anyway.

After it had been arranged, and he explained the basics of what Trent had been through so Connors found the right person, he gave Mikey, then Emma a call. Both kids were pleased to hear from him, if a little surprised by the hour considering it was early afternoon, but when he explained they’d returned from a spin-up and Brock and Metal were in hospital, they immediately asked if he wanted them there.

As much as he wanted to see them – he hadn’t seen Mikey in months – he knew he couldn’t pull them out of school. He told them that once Brock was out of the ICU he’d arrange to get them in for a weekend so he could spend some time with them and take them by the hospital – an arrangement they were more than happy with.

Both kids said they’d keep their uncles in their thoughts, and wanted updates as they came. Mikey and Emma truly were troopers.

Satisfied he’d done what he could, he gave Natalie a call to let her know he was back. Their relationship was still new, still trying to find its footing – but he’d happily take a visit from her, as brief as it might be, all the same.

There was a stampede of feet as Ray opened the door and called out he was home; Jameelah then RJ charging around the corner to meet him.

He dropped his bag and opened his arms wide, accepting the hug both his kids gave him before standing, a child on each hip, to give his wife a kiss.

“Everything go okay?” Naima asked, her eyes searching for injuries like they always did after a spin-up.

He couldn’t help the wince that escaped. “We’re all alive,” he said cryptically, which immediately put his wife on edge. Jameelah must’ve picked up on her mother’s tension, because she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Was someone hurt, daddy?”

Damn. He’d forgotten his daughter had become more perceptive to what was happening in his work life. He really needed to watch what he said from now on. Shuffling to the couch, he sat down and sighed silently when Jameelah cuddled closer to his side. “Yeah baby girl,” he said, not bothering to sugar coat it. If Brock’s condition went downhill, and Jameelah worked out he’d been hurt on their latest job, then realised he’d _lied_ about it, he knew he’d permanently break the trust she held in him. As much as he wanted to shelter her from the ugliness of his work, he knew he had to be honest. To a degree.

After all, Brock was her uncle, and she loved him dearly like she did all her extended military family. So she deserved to know a little bit of what was going on to better prepare herself.

“Uncle Brock and Uncle Metal are in the hospital.”

Naima looked worried, her eyes demanding to know their condition. “How bad is it?”

“Metal’ll be fine,” he told them, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead when her eyes started welling up. “Promise. Just a knock to his big, ugly head. Brock… he was pretty banged up, we’re waiting to hear more from his doctor.”

“Uncle Broc’li!” RJ burbled happily, recognising the name as he squirmed his way into his father’s lap.

Ray snorted. Brock had yet to forgive Clay for that. “Yeah bud, Uncle Broccoli.”

“But he’ll be okay? Right?” Jameelah asked quietly, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt.

“I don’t know, baby,” he told her honestly. “But Uncle Brock is a fighter, he’ll do everything he can to get better. It might just take some time.”

“Can we see him?”

“As soon as he can have visitors, I’ll take you to see him. Promise.”

Lisa took over from Sonny at her allocated time slot, then Vic took over from her at his. Metal faded in and out of consciousness while they were there, and didn’t do much beyond suffer through tests the nurses or Doc ran whenever he was awake. Any questions about Brock and the mission were carefully redirected.

Jason and Natalie took over from Vic; Natalie choosing to spend his shift with him so they could catch up, and also because she wanted to know more about the injuries both SEALs had sustained as she’d be the one in charge of their rehab – something Jason hadn’t even thought about, but was glad to be reminded of.

He greeted Dr Saunders, the therapist Connors had arranged for Trent, when she arrived; answering a few of her questions to better prepare her for what she might be faced with. Blackburn popped by unexpectedly to check on them all – so Jason excused himself to greet his CO before introducing the pair; explaining who Saunders was and why she was there. Eric, surprisingly, thanked him – said it saved him a phone call and arrangements of his own to make.

The timing of Blackburn’s arrival was impeccable, because Trent was _not_ amused when he turned up for his shift and realised who was waiting for him. When Blackburn told him he wouldn’t be cleared for active duty until he’d spoken with her – properly spoken with her, not glowered in silence – Bravo’s grumbling medic stomped off to Brock’s room; turning down Jason’s offer to join him while Saunders followed behind.

What surprised Jason the most was when Clay turned up four hours later, Trent hadn’t emerged - although upon hearing talking in the corridor he appeared not long after. He and Eric met him out in the hallway, and Jason could tell immediately that Trent had taken their CO’s threat seriously.

The stress that had been tugging at Bravo 4’s eyes had faded somewhat, and he appeared more relaxed than when he’d arrived at the hospital. Jason pulled Trent into a hug when he shrugged in response to how he was doing, and held him tightly for a long while to offer his comfort and support.

_“He’s going to need time,” Saunders told them once Trent and Clay were in Metal’s room. “There’s still a lot to work through, but we definitely made good progress; which is surprising, considering it takes my patients a few sessions to really open up.”_

_“Probably has something to do with the fact he was blindsided and threatened into it,” Blackburn commented wryly. “Didn’t have time to mentally prepare himself to be at least somewhat stubborn.”_

_“Probably,” she agreed. “You’ll be pleased to know he’s agreed to three more sessions with me this week – said he’d rather rip open the wound and drain it quickly than let the infection fester.”_

_Jason sighed. “Medics,” he muttered, as though that explained it all._

_Saunders nodded, so apparently it did. “He’s strong. He’ll get through this; he, like many medics, just has to get his head around accepting what he can and can’t control. I need to go, but if any of your other men need to talk to me, please call.” She handed Eric her card, and Blackburn nodded. Brock and Scott would definitely be using her services when they were in a better state to do so to ensure the mental scars of their ordeal weren’t as big as their physical ones._

* * *

The next day came, as did an update on Brock’s condition – improving slowly, and responding to his medication – which meant Jason was able to breathe a little more.

Metal was conscious for longer periods, in fact he was coherent enough that he managed to beat Sonny at two rounds of go fish before falling asleep through the third hand – which really pissed the Texan off when he couldn’t exact his revenge – and was talking clearly. He asked after Brock again, so Jason told him Bravo 5 was in the hospital recovering, and when Metal was cleared to leave his room he could go see him.

A little white lie, but it was enough to keep Alpha 1 placated until they knew more.

Much to everyone’s relief, the tests the doctors ran that afternoon cleared Full Metal of any head injuries, and they said that as long as he took it easy over the next few days, he’d be out of the hospital in no time.

Clay finally managed to convince Cerberus to eat – but it had taken going into Brock’s apartment and fetching some of his shirts for the dog to sleep on before he started responding. It likely also had to do with the fact that Clay was calm whenever they were together.

Brock had told him on the first day of their training that dogs were perceptive to emotions. If Brock was worried or frustrated, it made Cerberus antsy, and if he was excited? Well. It took ages for him to calm the canine down.

The fact that Clay was outwardly chilled, despite his own gnawing worry over his brother, meant that Cerberus remained relatively relaxed when they were home or out training. Taking the canine to the K-9 grounds also helped a lot, especially when some of his doggy friends were already there and he could run around like a lunatic with them to burn off energy.

It didn’t completely eliminate Cerb’s moping – he was missing his best friend, after all – but it did help keep the dog distracted for the time being.

Brock’s family came by the hospital in the early afternoon. Jason made sure he was there to meet them, and debriefed them as much as he could without getting himself in trouble. He’d organized for the Reynolds clan to visit Brock in the ICU like the team had – was planning on accompanying them there himself to get another glimpse of his brother – but no sooner had he finished his explanation than Mrs Reynolds had wrapped him in a hug; holding him tight and thanking him for bringing her boy home.

He wanted to tell her she had it wrong; that it was his fault her son was hospitalized in the first place. If he hadn’t sent Brock and Metal to the trucks, if he’d kept them with him then none of this would have happened. But he couldn’t admit it – he didn’t want to lose the affection she had for him. Not right now, anyway. Once they knew what was happening, he’d admit to his failings… but losing her trust was a pain he couldn’t handle on top of everything else.

Instead he hugged her back, holding tightly before telling her Brock was his brother, and he’d always do what he could for him.

To his surprise, Trent joined them in the hospital lobby, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when Mrs Reynolds detached herself from him so she could latch onto the medic. If Jason had been responsible for bringing her son home, Trent was the reason he was still alive – a fact she told them she’d never forget.

After they’d visited the ICU – Jason had comforted Brock’s father while Trent wrapped his arms around his mother and one of his sisters – Mrs Reynolds announced they were going to cook a dinner for them all and bring it by the hospital for the boys in a few hours, before promptly frog marching Trent out the door and telling him she needed his help.

Every one saw the move for what it really was; pulling Trent from his own mind by using his adopted family as a distraction - but Jason was grateful for the move nonetheless.

The meal, as always, was delicious. And was the home-made pick me up they all needed.

* * *

Day three came around, and the entirety of Bravo team were gathered in Metal’s room.

The nurses had told Blackburn the night before they’d have a decision about Brock’s stay in the ICU by lunch time, and with Metal already grumbling about being stuck there, Eric decided to get Scott’s AAR before he attempted a jailbreak.

Of course, when Jason got wind of the CO’s intention, it meant everyone had also chosen to be there, because they all wanted to know just what the hell had happened in that courtyard.

When Jason entered, Metal was arguing with Clay over the fact the sniper had stolen his pudding cup, while the blond protested that he was hungry and as Metal hadn’t eaten it the day before, he figured he could have today’s one.

Of course, the pudding hadn’t even been touched, and Clay was smirking the whole time while he riled up his bedridden brother.

“Clay,” he sighed as he entered, smacking the blond upside the head. “Give the man back his food.”

“But he -”

“It’s a lovely day to run some hills,” he said mildly, and Clay handed the pudding over with no small amount of grumbling.

Metal flipped him the bird, then set the cup down on his tray with a smirk. Clay squawked in protest.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lisa said as she and Blackburn entered the room; Lisa’s hands filled with a box of donuts from their favourite store while Blackburn carried the trays of coffee. “There was a queue.”

Clay whooped at the sight before sticking his tongue out at Metal, swiping a donut from the box the moment it was set down. “You enjoy that cardboard pudding Metal,” he teased as he bit into the pastry and moaned. “Damn I’ve missed these.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, GQ, ladies are present,” Sonny scolded, ignoring Metal’s growls of making the kid’s life a living hell once he was free. Jason didn’t even bother to ask who the other supposed females were that Sonny was referring too. Knowing the Texan, he probably meant Jason and Ray, anyway.

“If we’ve all quite finished,” Blackburn called over the chatter as he grabbed a seat, set it by the head of the bed and put his phone to record. “I’d like to get Scott’s AAR completed so it can be submitted. Brass is pushing for answers, and quite frankly I’d like to know what happened out there as well.”

As Blackburn likely intended, the rest of Bravo settled into their seats silently with coffee and donuts in hand before looking at their bedridden brother expectantly.

Metal glared at them. “You assholes are going to eat those in front of me while I’m stuck with this shitty-ass pudding?”

“Yep,” several of them chorused, before bumping donuts.

“I’ve set your favourites aside, Metal,” Lisa told him with a pat to the leg. “Don’t worry. You can have it once you’ve done your report.”

Scott nodded, satisfied, before turning to Blackburn. “Where do you want me to start?”

Blackburn pulled Jason’s AAR from the bag he’d set at his feet, and flicked to the page he’d marked earlier. “From when Jason told you and Brock to split off for the trucks.”

“Roger that.”

_Metal glanced over his shoulder, confirmed Bravo were about to breach the warehouse before he hurried to Brock’s side._

_“What have we got?”_

_“Vehicles secured,” Reynolds replied, quickly peering into the cab of each truck to ensure there was nothing unpleasant waiting for them. There wasn’t. “Three tangos down. We should -”_

_What they should do was unknown, because they were forced to scatter when bullets started flying around them._

_“Brock?! You good?!” He yelled over the sound of exploding wood. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t just an asshole with an AK. A quick glance around his cover and – yep. A mounted .50cal. Fucking marvelous._

_“All good!”_

_Chancing a second glance past his barricade, he cursed when he got a better look at what they were up against. “I count three tangos and a .50cal in the bed of the truck!”_

_Brock nodded back, and lifted his hand to raise Jason on the radio. The first sign he had that something was wrong with their comms was when he didn’t hear Brock’s call come through his earpiece, which was weird because he could see the man’s lips moving._

_“Nothing! I can’t get through! Comms are shot to hell!”_

_Crap. Low on ammo and cornered as they were, actually killing these guys was going to prove tricky with the shitty line of sight they both had. “You go around!” he yelled back, shaking his head at the sight of his clip just over half full. This was going to be fun. “See if you can get a line on the .50 cal; I’ll cover you!”_

_Three tangos ahead; one in the bed of the truck with the gun and two on the ground flanking him. He looked at Brock, got a thumbs up and started laying down the sorriest excuse for covering fire he’d ever given. This lack of ammunition_ sucked.

_He saw Brock move out of the corner of his eye, honed in on the tangos who’d noticed it as well and lined up a shot. The guy on the left dropped with part of his head missing, and he shrugged. The dickhead had inadvertently walked into his shot as he went for the middle guy, which resulted in a head shot. Eh. He’d take that._

_But there were still two to go, and he didn’t have a clear line of sight anymore. With the last of the ammunition nearly gone, he was seriously considering doing something stupid – like standing up and yelling insults about the tangos mothers just to distract them – when like bowling pins, they dropped one after another._

_Silence rung clear, and he smirked. Damn this kid was good – maybe he could convince Brock to move to Alpha in the near future._

_Reynolds didn’t immediately appear - so he stood up, frowning. “Brock! You good?” That’d be just his luck. Brock saves his ass from getting shot up, only for Jason to kill him anyway because the kid was quietly bleeding to death somewhere across the lot._

_There was the sound of boots moving across the concrete, and he sighed in relief. “That was some nice shooting,” he told the canine handler as he appeared, only to double take when he laid eyes on him. The side of his face was covered in blood, and he looked pale. “Shit, let me take a look.”_

_“It’ll be fine; looks worse than it is.”_

_“I don’t think you’d be saying that if you could see yourself,” he countered. “Besides, I’m not going to let Trent tear me a new asshole for not checking.” Like hell he’d let Trent tear him a new asshole; that man was scary when angry._

_Either his expression gave him away, or Bravo 5 came to the same conclusion about the risk of pissing Trent off. Brock submitted with only a bit of grumbling as his chin was grabbed; he poked it, wanting to see how deep it was, but got his hand slapped away instead. Rude. “It’s deep, and will definitely need stitches, but I think you’ll live.”_

_“Gee, thanks Doc.” Brock looked around. “We need to stockpile these guns. We’ve got no idea what’s going on in that building but we can’t help them with no ammo.”_

_He nodded. The fact that they now had access to ammunition was a bonus, despite the fact they had to scavenge for it in the first place. Oh well, he’d take what he could get. Beggars can’t be choosers, and all that._

_Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the building the rest of their team had entered, blowing a hole in the roof and he stared on; horrified._

_It was like the Alpha ambush all over again._

_Before he could even process what he was seeing, let alone what he should be doing to help, tires squealed – announcing the arrival of the company they were about to receive. “I make three vehicles,” he reported, then scowled. “You fucking assholes have to be kidding right now. Middle truck has another .50cal mounted in the bed.”_

_“Guess it’s going to be down to who’s more efficient on the gun then,” Brock replied, running for the gun they’d just won to prime it. “Us or them.”_

_Sound logic. Hopefully it was true. Hurrying to the closest bodies, he started stripping them of their weapons and magazines; setting a pile within easy reach for Brock before taking the rest to his own defensive position. “We need to deal with this lot quickly and get in that building. The boys may need our help.”_

_“That’s assuming there’s anyone left to rescue.”_

_Ye of little faith. “The others will have survived that blast because they’re stubborn assholes, you know that,” he retorted, grinning. They both ducked when bullets sprayed the walls behind them – missing them by miles, the fucking amateurs. He shared a look with Brock as he cocked his rifle. “But these guys? They just don’t give up, do they?”_

_“No, they don’t,” Brock replied, cocking the .50cal in response and training it on the first truck. “Let’s go hunting.”_

_And hunt they did. With the additional ammunition he’d gathered, they stood a chance at eliminating these assholes. At first, he’d assumed they’d win the battle – it was only three tangos after all - but then things started going wrong._

_For every tango they eliminated, two more seemed to take their place. Then they started appearing on their left and right; trying to flank them and divide their attention._

_Of course, these were the stock-standard dipshits who thought they were soldiers and kept yelling threats, thereby giving away their positions. Dipshits who were up against two of the US Navy’s elite tier one operatives who breathed this kind of mayhem every day – so it’s not like they couldn’t handle it._

_A quick count of mags beside him revealed ammunition was starting to run low again, but he knew they’d be alright for a little while yet – even longer if he could get close enough to the new bodies to swipe some of their magazines. A quick tally confirmed his estimate of roughly twenty dead hostiles littering the ground around them, and there were less men arriving so they must’ve been making a dent in whichever reinforcement squad had been on call for the day._

_Confident they’d make it through this and get to their boys, he was taken by surprise when Brock yelled for him to watch out. He barely got a look at the tango holding the RPG across the lot before Brock practically flew from the truck to tackle him to the ground; the vehicle blowing sky high milliseconds later._

_The shockwave of the explosion slammed into him, and he hit the ground heavily while glass and debris rained down around him. Head bouncing off the pavement, he had a split second to praise the fact his helmet took the brunt of the damage before yelling made him turn his head; vision swimming just enough to make him feel nauseous, but not enough for him to fail taking out two tangos that were charging their way._

_The reprieve was brief, but it was enough for his body to register the flare of pain in several joints as well as the burning pain above his eye. A quick touch to the area had his glove coming away slick with blood, and he grunted as he tried to make his way upright. Fuck that hurt._

_A pained groan beside him, and he turned his head again; wincing at the pain that shot through his side to see Brock sprawled face down on the concrete beside him, arms and legs slowly drawing towards his body as he tried to push himself up._

_Bullets tore up the pavement around them, spurring both he and Bravo 5 to their feet; although their progression upwards was a hell of a lot slower than it should’ve been. Brock stood first and started firing back with the AK he grabbed off the ground; providing cover so he could do the same._

_Just as he got his feet under him, he was grunting when his knees slammed into the ground courtesy of the bullet that had just buried itself in his thigh. God_ damn _that burned. He fired a shot from his Glock, not really paying much mind for where he aimed, but the cry of pain from some asshole across the way brought a brief flare of satisfaction._

_“Get up Metal!” Brock yelled, grabbing his vest and pulling him backwards to safety. “Walk it -”_

_Brock fell backwards with a pained cry, his hand flying to his shoulder. Grabbing the dropped AK, he eliminated the asshole he suspected was responsible for shooting his brother. “Brock! You good?!”_

_Rather than answering, Brock scrambled to his feet, only to cry out in pain and stumble sideways as someone tried to shoot his leg out from under him._

_“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” he roared, firing in the tangos general direction as he limped to Brock’s side; grabbing him and pulling along. “YOU’LL -”_

_The next thing he knew, he was blinking at the sky – desperately trying to breathe and not really succeeding._

_“Let’s see them get up from that,” he heard someone say, but he ignored it in favour of looking for his brother. With only one eye showing him anything – he could feel the warmth of the blood on his face and around his other eye so he wasn’t panicking about loss of vision just yet - he growled weakly when he found Brock sprawled on the ground next to him, unmoving._

_“Reynolds,” he mumbled, planning on rolling onto his side, only to gasp when pain exploded in his chest - he was damn certain that at least two ribs were moving when they shouldn’t be. And he was a bit concerned he couldn’t feel any sensation in his arm, either. He gave up, panting heavily, his eyes straying until they landed on the man smirking down at him while he changed the mag on his AK._

_The pieces fell into place._

_Fuck. This asshole had opened up on them, mowed them down and now Brock wasn’t moving._

_No._

_Jason would never forgive him for failing like this._

_He’d_ _never forgive_ himself _for failing like this._

_A weak moan to his left, and he swore it was one of the best things he’d ever heard, because it meant his brother was still, miraculously, alive._

_Turning his head, he realised men surrounded them, felt hands on him as his helmet was yanked off his head, his vest unzipped then stripped away. Despite losing the protection, the removal of the Kevlar was a saving grace; the lack of dented metal no longer putting pressure on his chest and making it easier to breathe. He saw Brock lift a hand, weakly try push away the people touching him - snarled as one of the men pulled Bravo 5 up enough to punch him in the face; Brock’s head snapping back heavily before he was dropped to the ground - limp and unmoving._

_“You’ll… pay… for that…” he panted, glaring at the man directly above him._

_The man laughed. “Oh I’m sure! But first we must get you ready to greet your friends.”_

_The last thing he saw was the butt of a rifle as it slammed into his face._

“I don’t remember what happened after that,” Metal told his silent audience. “There’s flashes, maybe. Pieces, but it’s all kinda jumbled. Sorry.” 

Blackburn picked up his phone, switched the recorder off. “That’s okay,” he said quietly. “That’s all I need to know.” 

He nodded and settled back into his mattress some more. “Brock saved my life,” he pointed out, because it felt important to reiterate just what Reynolds had done for him. His leg, for whatever reason, twitched at the same time and sent a bolt of pain through his nerves. Gritting his teeth and inhaling deeply he rode it out, focusing on his brothers solemn faces until it dissipated. It didn’t fade completely, but he waved off the morphine button someone nudged closer; while the pain was unpleasant, it was manageable. “If he hadn’t warned me about the RPG…” 

Jason stood and left the room without saying a word; but no one missed the thud of his fist meeting the corridor wall. He flinched at the sound, then immediately grumbled because since when did _he_ flinch _?_ Fucking drugs they’d put him on must be messing with him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ray said, as though reading his mind. He looked at Bravo 2 in disbelief. How could this _not_ be his fault? If he’d paid more attention, he and Brock wouldn’t be where they were – Bravo wouldn’t be wondering about whether one of their teammates would get to go home in one piece, or several. So he said as much. 

“You don’t know that,” Perry countered immediately. “Yeah, having an RPG fired at you sucks big time – but I’d take what you went through over us finding the bodies of our brothers riddled with .50 cal rounds, or worse – watching those assholes murder you in front of us. You’re alive, Metal. That’s all that matters.” 

“But Brock -” 

“Brock knew what he was doing.” Jason had returned, and while he still looked angry, Metal knew the anger wasn’t directed at him. “Brock is a SEAL, just like the rest of us – and one of our objectives is to ensure our brothers make it home. He did that. I don’t agree with _how_ he did that – and believe me that’ll be a conversation he won’t enjoy – but he did what he had too to make sure you both came home.”

There was no point in arguing with them. They could go back and forth with the blame game until they were all blue in the face, but at the end of the day the only one whose opinion truly mattered to him was the only one of their messed up family that wasn’t here.

Speaking of…

“Brock in his room, yet?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in response to the one Jason gave him. Yes, he was changing topic – sue him.

“We’re waiting on the nurse,” Trent replied, looking at his watch. “They should be by any time with an update.”

He nodded. For the first time, he’d be able to get the news of Brock’s recovery the same time as everyone else.

Sonny scooted his chair closer, drawing out a pack of cards. “While we’re waiting, you still owe me a rematch for go fish.”

“Go fish?” Clay repeated, and Metal could tell the blond was trying to hide his smirk. “You challenged Full Metal to _go fish_? That the only card game you know how to win, buddy?”

“It was the only game I could think of that didn’t require a lot of brain power for a sick man,” Sonny retorted as he started dealing the cards, glowering at his brothers who made no effort to hide their sniggers.

He smirked. He may have been in and out of consciousness since he’d arrived, but he’d been with it enough when he was awake to remember what happened when he was. “And I still beat his ass twice in a row.”

Clay fell out of his chair, roaring with laughter.

* * *

Rather than play go fish, it was back to poker with skittles for another couple of hours until Doc arrived with Dr Bradley in tow.

Vic had just caused a rather big upset with the latest hand, bluffing his way through to the end and taking a large pot - much to the vocal displeasure of all involved - when they arrived. Bravo 7 quickly swept his winnings into Metal’s empty donut box so Sonny couldn’t steal them; going so far as to hug them to his chest when the Texan pointed out a measly bit of cardboard wouldn’t stop him.

“Hey Docs,” Jason greeted when they entered the room, smacking Sonny over the head to shut him up before turning his attention to them fully. The rest of his team fell silent as they listened in. “So, when can we see him?”

Dr Bradley smiled at them, and for the first time since this whole mess started, Jason felt the band around his chest loosen. “As I said at the start, Mr Reynolds is a fighter. For the first day or so it looked like the infection that had set into his wounds was going to cause serious problems, but we upped his medication and he’s responded incredibly well. Now, I’m aware you’re all desperate to see him, and while I can completely understand that – I am going to ask for patience just a little bit longer.”

No sooner had the band released, then it snapped back into place; and it honestly felt like a kick in the gut. Brock wasn’t going to be released from the ICU when he was supposed to.

Obviously a few of their reactions were enough to cause some concern, because Doc lifted his hand. “Before you all panic, hear her out. The news is positive, I promise.”

“Based on how well Mr Reynolds is responding to his antibiotics, and the increasingly positive MRI scans we’ve been getting back, we’ve chosen to keep him in the ICU for an extra two days. This is a precaution for two reasons; the first is we want to eliminate all signs of infection – we’re already eighty percent of the way there, so we want the opportunity to kill it completely. The second reason is because he’s being weaned off his ventilator as we speak; we’re going to need time to monitor his pneumonia to see if it gets any worse before we remove him from the ICU – this allows us to do that in a controlled environment. The pneumonia he had at the start hasn’t gotten any worse, but it hasn’t gotten any better either, so we want to make sure that doesn’t happen before we bring him onto the ward.”

Trent stood up, and Jason could see the disbelief in his brother’s face, the tremble in his hands. “Wait, so you’re saying that in a couple of days… he could be awake?”

Dr Bradley nodded, Doc grinned. “While he still has a long way to go for his recovery, he’ll be given the medication to bring him out of his coma,” Doc told them, nodding at the multiple gasps that echoed in the small room. “When you get to see him, he should be awake.”

“I know it’s not exactly what you were hoping to hear,” Dr Bradley added. “But the team assigned to him all agree that by delaying two extra days where he should be awake at the end of it, is better than us bringing him out now and leaving him on his ventilator for another week or so.”

“Slow is smooth and smooth is fast,” Jason replied quietly.

Doc smirked, pleased. “You got it, Hayes.”

Jason looked around the rest of his team, read the relief and joy in their faces, their postures. Yeah, the news was better than they’d expected – and he’d take this minor delay over a longer one, because it meant one thing for their missing brother.

Brock was coming home.


	8. Homeward Bound

**A/N: Final chapter for you lovely people! Seriously, this story has been a blast to write and you guys have welcomed me to this fandom with open arms - you're all amazing and awesome and I can't thank you enough for jumping on the Brock whump-express with me! As my way of saying thank you (aside from giving you this chapter which I hope will make you laugh/cheer a little bit) I'd like to let you all know I have at LEAST two more Brock-centric whump fics planned! I also have a much bigger SEAL team story planned, which while it will focus on Clay a little bit more - guess what? THERE'LL BE PLENTY OF BROCK WHUMP TOO! So technically, there's at least three stories to come!**

**There was a request from the wonderful remiparker for summaries for the two stories, which I'll happily oblige for you all :D**

**#1 - an alternate take on ep 1x05 'Collapse' - while trying to get back to the American Embassy to evac Ray and Lisa, Jason asks if everyone's okay after the firefight at the roadblock. Everyone says yes, turns out Brock isn't as okay as he thinks. *Cue dramatic music***

**#2 - Brock and Cerberus are spun up with Delta when their skill set is required to help stop a potential terrorist attack - without Jason's knowledge. What should've been a joint mission with Delta and the British SAS instead results in Bravo getting spun-up to assist when the SAS are re-directed to another threat. Unfortunately, Bravo are several hours behind Delta. What could go wrong? ;) _(for those interested in reading this story, I want to stress now that this will be dealing with a terrorist attack at Tenerife airport - the location is deliberately chosen, and will be explained in the story. For anyone reading who lost loved ones in the Tenerife disaster, or loved ones during the 9/11 attacks, this may be a trigger and you read at your own risk. It will be tagged with warnings again when publishing, but I want to address it now so you're aware)._**

**Moving on from that, I just want to say thank you again to all you wonderful readers! I'm sending big hugs to each and every one of you! Kia Kaha from New Zealand! :D <3**

**Special shout out to:[Rantsandobliviousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantsandobliviousness), [Bastet5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5), [FancyHippopotamoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyHippopotamoose), [Hayzkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid), [HallsOfValhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsOfValhalla), [AllAboutTheStory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory), [Jinxie17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxie17), [Lifeshandful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeshandful), [Eggerthella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella), [nhardoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhardoy), [TheLaurinchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen), [NyxNight94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNight94), [purplehaz97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97), [burn_me_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down), [MiaMalfoy716](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716), [yuckate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate), [FlutieCutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie), [my_shangri_la](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shangri_la), [tme180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tme180), [Floopdeedoopdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee), [Irish1969](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969), [BlindAlley05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindAlley05), [Ejs1994](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejs1994), [lorarawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr), [Tramacdo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramacdo), [Marvel1301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301), [ilarbyou3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilarbyou3000), [Laura42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42), [swissmiss69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69), [Undomiel5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5), [ShellyFanFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic), [Lenie85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenie85), [thingswaitingtobewritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswaitingtobewritten), [KazooKaren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren), [LifeofLaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeofLaura), [blabliblablu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blabliblablu), [Kelmeckis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmeckis), [Samsam572](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samsam572), [Lakegirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88), [Tartlette1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartlette1), [CamilleMadeAnAccount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount), and [turnitup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup) as well as the 52 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are aweome!**

**Bring on the next episode of SEAL Team! Woot!**

* * *

“So where did you say Cerb was again?” 

Clay looked at the Texan, exasperated. The only reason he didn’t smack Sonny upside the head was the man was carrying two trays of coffees, and he had zero interest in bringing a decaffeinated Jason’s ire down on him so early in the morning. “Dude, you asked me that when you picked me up twenty minutes ago. Your memory going in your old age or something?” 

“Har har,” Sonny retorted, somehow managing to elbow him without spilling the drinks. Clay was mildly impressed. “I got things on my mind, goldilocks. Forgive me if I wasn’t entirely paying attention.” 

He rolled his eyes, deliberately didn’t reply. As expected, after several seconds of silence Sonny looked at him. 

“Well?” 

“Sorry, did you say something?” 

“C’mon Clay!” 

With a bark of laughter, he shook his head; it was far too easy to wind his brother up. He really ought to feel bad for taking advantage of the elderly like that, but meh; fun over morals and whatnot. Pushing open the doors to the hospital, he held them so Sonny could get through without mishap. “Doc said he spoke with the hospital staff and they were happy for Cerb to visit as long as he stayed out of the way, so Ray picked him up this morning on his way here before my work out.” 

“Good,” Sonny replied quietly, leading the way to the elevator that would take them to the ward that had become too familiar for anyone’s liking. “Poor dog deserves to be here as much as the rest of us.” 

He couldn’t help but agree. 

The extra two days had passed in a blur, surprising them all because they’d expected them to drag by like the first three had. With the news that Brock would be off his ventilator sooner rather than later, they’d all been eagerly awaiting the chance to see him for themselves; to bring the last of their team back into the fold.

Of course, the speed in which the days passed likely had something to do with the fact that regular life demanded their attention; family, work and responsibilities biting at their heels. With how busy they were, it came as a shock when Blackburn text them with an update: Brock would be out of ICU in a couple hours, and if they wanted to be there when he was brought to the ward they needed to get to the hospital pronto. 

_He pushed open the door to Full Metal’s room, noting he was the last to arrive with a small degree of panic. He’d been training with_ _Cerb_ _for the last hour, and it’d been a complete fluke that he’d heard his phone chime with Blackburn’s message at all. By the time he’d finished_ _Cerb’s_ _cool down, fed and watered the dog, he’d had about half an hour to make the_ _twenty minute_ _drive to the hospital. “Shit, am I late? I thought I was early.” He looked at his watch. Nope, he was definitely early. By like, two minutes._

_“Nah kid,” Jason replied, barely glancing up from his phone. “We only just got here too; calm down.”_

_“Yeah, you don’t_ _wanna_ _give yourself grey hairs before your time, blondie,” Sonny drawled from where he was sitting on the ground tucked in the corner, throwing cards at Vic who was doing well to ignore him. “I don’t want to be calling you gramps for at least another ten years.”_

_“Well you’re already into your twilight years,_ _you_ _old fart,” he quipped, relief settling on his shoulders. “So that’ll be my joke long before it’ll be yours.” He looked at the time again. “Do we know how much longer we have to -”_

_He cut himself off when he heard the ward doors open, and_ _meeped_ _when he was nearly squashed by his brothers who hurried to the window to look. Metal was grumbling loudly about being left in his bed, and with an irritated huff he went and grabbed the injured SEAL - nodding at Trent when he gave him a hand._

 _“Come on limp-along,” he grunted as he and Trent maneuvered Metal upright, “let’s take a look.”_

_Elbowing Sonny and Vic out of the way none too gently, he got back his spot in front of the window; muttering a thanks to Trent when he raised the blinds so they had an unobstructed view. At the far end of the corridor several medical personnel were pushing a stretcher their way, and Clay spotted Dr Bradley with them, talking with Doc. “Guys,” he said excitedly, the sight of the two medical professionals confirming who was coming. “Guys it’s Brock.”_

_“Yuhuh, we can see that,” Sonny replied, his voice slightly muffled due to his face being stuck against the glass._ _As the stretcher passed the window, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Brock was, as expected, still unconscious – but weirdly enough he still found himself squashing down the pang of disappointment that their brother wasn’t awake and grinning at them. It had been wishful thinking, nothing more – but it would’ve been nice to see all the same._

 _He was still hooked up to a multitude of machines; but the most notable difference – and one that brought great relief - was the lack of a tube down his throat; the ventilator having officially been replaced with an oxygen mask. For some reason, despite_ knowing _Brock no longer needed the help breathing, actually seeing the progress he’d made for himself made his eyes sting._

_Clay blinked quickly to get rid of the moisture while clearing his throat. His first thought was to scold himself for getting emotional; he was a SEAL for_ _petes_ _sake – he wasn’t supposed to get emotional like this! But then he heard several no-so-quiet sniffs around him, and realized that in this instance it might just be okay._

_“You good Trent?” He asked quietly, peering around Metal’s head to look at the medic. Trent’s eyes were shiny, but his face was dry; his expression tentatively hopeful. From where his hand was positioned on Scott’s waist to help keep the man upright, it was easy to move it to Trent’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. “Hey, you good?”_

_Trent looked at him, giving him a brief, lopsided smile. “I will be.”_

_He nodded, and watched as Doc pulled away from the stretcher to come to Metal’s room. When he got the door open, he jumped slightly when he_ _realised_ _how close they all were – obviously he’d completely missed seeing eight fully grown adults gawking out the window like they were at the zoo. “Lads. Davis,” he said once he shook off his surprise. “Glad to see you’re all here.”_

_“Can we see him now?” Jason asked immediately, and Clay smirked when Bravo 1 fluffed up like an indignant cat when Doc shook his head. “Why the hell not?”_

_“Christ Hayes,” Doc sighed, exasperated. “Give them a chance to get him settled and hooked up to his monitors, would you? Once they’re done, you can go in and see him.”_

_Jason backed down, but he didn’t stop muttering under his breath; going so far as to fold his arms over his chest and tap his foot impatiently. Yeah, like that would help speed things up._

_“He_ _woken yet_ _?” Lisa asked, dragging Doc’s attention away from Bravo 1 and back to the room at large._

_“He hasn’t woken yet, no,” Doc replied. “While he’s off the drugs that kept him in the induced coma, he’s still pumped to the gills on medication;_ _so_ _he won’t be coherent for a while yet. Keep in mind, his body needs the rest so he’ll be in and out of consciousness for the foreseeable future.”_

_Dr Bradley entered the room then, and smiled when they all turned to her. “Well I’m sure you’re all desperate to see him, so you can go through,” she said, and he felt like cheering. Or giving the woman a kiss on the lips. After a moments debate, he chose to grin instead – figured it’d be the option that wouldn’t get him booted out of the hospital and banned for life._

_“_ _However_ _I do ask that when you’re there, you stay as quiet as possible. He needs his rest, so keep the noise and light down because both are going to give him a headache; if you want to_ _talk_ _I suggest you do it when you’re not in his room. He’s also going to be incredibly groggy for the next few days as he’s still on morphine, so try avoid asking him questions – we’re still uncertain to the extent of any brain trauma, and I don’t want anyone accidentally setting his recovery back. If he talks, or tries to, just go with it; but other than_ _that_ _don’t encourage him.”_

_When she got a nod from everyone gathered, she left the room – telling Doc she’d be by in a couple hours to check on them before accompanying the nurses who’d left Brock’s room off the ward. He grabbed the wheelchair someone had brought in for Metal, and then glared at the man when he scoffed at the instruction to sit. “Park your ass in this seat, Metal, or so help me I’ll leave you here,” he threatened. Metal leaned against the window to keep himself upright, but otherwise didn’t move._

_He narrowed his eyes, and was seriously considering how much of an ass-kicking he was willing to risk further down the track if he manhandled Scott into the chair. Thankfully Jason intervened; telling Scott with a smug smirk that if he didn’t use the aide, then he’d be ziptied to the bed to stop him from hurting himself. Which meant he wouldn’t get to see Brock – and did he really want that?_

_He muttered a quick thanks to the poor sods watching over them – Swanny and Adam must really be sick of their sorry asses by now – because he really hadn’t wanted to embarrass Alpha 1 in front of everyone present._

_The amount of swearing and threatening they were subjected too told them exactly what Metal thought of them all, before he sat his ass down as ordered; crossing his arms over his chest and glowering hard enough to set fire to something as he was pushed from the room._

_As a silent group, they made their way to the other door. With a quick, stern glance to ensure the doctor’s orders were followed, Jason entered Brock's room first; closely followed by Trent who held the door open so he could get the chair in. The rest of the team filed in behind them, footsteps nearly silent on the linoleum. He set Metal’s chair as close to the head of the bed as he could, then turned his attention to his unconscious brother; dimly aware of the rest of the team positioning themselves around Brock’s bed as close as they could get._

_The first thing he noticed was that Brock’s_ _colour_ _had started to return. When they’d looked in on him in the ICU, Brock had been horribly pale – further supporting the illusion of his brother at deaths door. It had been scary to see, for one so lively; but seeing him now he could tell that time and treatment had certainly helped._

_At the very least, Brock didn’t look like he was about to die on them any second. A far cry from how he’d been on the plane._

_The bruising on Brock’s face had started to change_ _colour_ _; going from the dark, near-black blooms of a fresh injury to the ugly, motley yellow and greens of healing. The swelling seemed to have gone down too, but there was still the hint of puffiness that he knew would take a while to disappear._

_A sliver of skin was exposed near his collarbone where the gown couldn’t quite cover, and it appeared the bruising from that bullet wound had yet to change. He shuddered to think what the rest of the bruising on Brock’s chest looked like – wondered idly if the nurses had been rubbing the same cream he used after Mumbai onto the damage or if they’d left it to sort itself out._

_He made a note to ask Doc; would help treat the injury with the cream if the nurses didn’t have anything else for it._

_“Kid looks like he’s been through hell,” Sonny murmured, resting a hand on Brock’s covered foot. He frowned at the movement, then he looked down and was surprised to see his hand carefully holding Brock’s forearm. He was even more surprised to see that everyone else had done the same with wherever they could reach._

_“He has been through hell,” Jason whispered back, his voice thick as he laid his hand gently on Brock’s forehead from the opposite side of the bed. “And he’s fought like hell to stay with us.”_

_He realized, suddenly, just how badly Brock’s situation had affected them – how much it had thrown the team off kilter. Brock was the quietly dependable one; almost never hurt – always there pulling their asses out of the fire with little more than a sigh and exasperated eye roll._

_The team knew how to cope when it was him, Jason, Ray or Sonny who was injured; laughed it off, slapped a shoulder and carried on. None of them quite knew what to do when it was Trent or Brock that needed saving; for some reason, those missions always felt the hardest – like they couldn’t regain their equilibrium until whichever of the pair that had been injured had recovered._

_Thank god those times were rare, because every time it happened it was a startling reminder that regardless of how indestructible they believed themselves to be, they were - at the end of the day - human._

_“But we’ll be here for him,” Jason continued, looking at them all with the quiet determination that had inspired every Greenie to be a part of Bravo Team. “Every step of the way.”_

The ding of the elevator as it opened onto their selected floor dragged Clay from his thoughts. They were barely two steps out of the lift before he was gaping at what he saw, then charging down the corridor with a noise of protest. 

“Scott Full Metal Carter!” he snapped indignantly, bringing the hobbling, injured man to a complete standstill before he awkwardly shuffled to face them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” ‘Doing’ was using the wall as a crutch as he did some weird scuttle shuffle to make his way to Brock’s room. 

Metal glared. “Did you seriously just full name me? With my nickname?” 

“The smother hen makes a reappearance,” Sonny sighed beside him, and from the corner of his eye Clay caught him shaking his head. “Mine,” the Texan added, turning slightly to hide coffee from view when it became apparent Metal was eyeing them up.

“Oi,” he tutted, snapping his fingers to get Scott’s attention again. “Still talking to you – besides, Doc hasn’t cleared you for caffeine yet, so forget it. Now; you know you’re not supposed to be out of bed yet, you idiot,” he continued, marching down the corridor until there was only a couple of feet between them. Metal might be injured, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk getting any closer. 

The vein that was throbbing on Metal’s temple told him the man was not impressed with his self-preservation skills. There’d be _a lot_ of hills in his immediate future, he just knew it. “So why are you, and where is your wheelchair?!” 

“This’ll go well,” Sonny muttered, exasperated. “Oh boy.” He flipped Sonny the bird over his shoulder, but didn’t look away. 

“No idea,” Metal replied, deadpan. “Lost it.” 

He looked through the window, and squawked in annoyance. Sonny burst out laughing, so Clay figured the Texan had seen the wheelchair just like he had - sitting next to Scott’s bed. 

“Oh really?” he challenged, drawing himself up to his full height. The warnings the team had been given started bouncing around his head: ‘ _Scott is not to walk around until I give him the all clear,’_ Doc had said. _‘Don’t let him leave his room without that chair,’_ Jason had reiterated. Yeah? Well where the bloody hell were they now? They were the only one’s Scott would listen to, and if he continued to challenge Alpha 1 like this for much longer, he’d be given a broken nose. “Is the wheelchair that’s currently beside your bed an ornamental one then, is it?” 

Metal made a show of looking into his room, before looking him dead in the eye. “No idea where that came from. Haven’t seen it before.” 

“You are so full of shit,” Sonny chortled, then whined when he was smacked over the back of the head by Jason who had just come out of Brock’s room, looking distinctly unimpressed. 

“What was that for?” 

“For being too loud,” Jason scolded. “Scott, the hell are you doing out of bed? Clay, why is he out of bed, and where the hell is his wheelchair?” 

Clay irritably jammed a finger in Metal’s direction at the accusatory tone. “Excuse you, we just arrived. I caught him making a break for it! As for where his wheelchair that’s apparently not _-_ the-one-by-his-bed is? Wouldn’t have a fucking clue.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Scott, you may be Alpha 1 but as you were injured whilst assigned to Bravo, you’re my responsibility. And I distinctly recall telling you this morning you weren’t going to see Brock until _after_ your session with Natalie – which starts in fifteen minutes. Not before. Besides, his family is in there with us, so you have to wait until they’re gone.” 

Shit. He’d forgotten Brock’s family had come in first thing to spend some time with him before they had to leave. They’d spent as much time at Virginia Beach as they could arrange at the last minute, but would be up again on the Friday night to spend the weekend. Hopefully, Brock would actually be awake by that point. 

“But I -” 

“No but’s, Metal,” Jason countered with a glare. “Clay, get him back to bed; Natalie text me to say she was in the lobby so she’ll be here in a sec. Sonny -” 

“Yeah boss?” 

“Gimme my coffee. It’s too early to deal with this shit.” Jason’s phone pinged, and he looked at it. “Wait, gimme Ray’s too, he’s thirsty.” 

Sonny handed Jason the tray. “Brock’s folk asked for coffee too, so take the whole damn thing.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jason took it and stomped back to Brock’s door, before turning to them and pointing to Metal’s room. “Bed,” he ordered sternly, before entering the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. 

Clay turned and smirked at Scott. “Go on then,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “You got yourself to the door, you can get back again, mister I-don’t-need-a-wheelchair.” 

“I will kill you in your sleep when I can run again,” Metal snarled as he started his awkward walk-shuffle to his bed. “Just so you’re aware.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I know you will buddy.” 

* * *

Brock’s family stayed for most of Metal’s session with Natalie, so for a lack of anything better to do, Clay and Sonny chose to spend their time in Alpha 1’s room to encourage him as he went through his exercises. As annoying as Swanny had been when he’d gone through rehab, Clay had to admit that the urge to strangle his friend is what got him through the day more often than not. 

Through her laughter, Natalie had Metal doing a very slow, controlled single leg squat on his injured side to see how much motion he had before the pain started. “Good, that’s good. Just take it slow and don’t overdo it. This isn’t about getting all the way down, this is about seeing where you can get to so we have a starting point to base your recovery on.” 

Not wanting to be left out, Clay and Sonny were doing some poor semblance of a ballerina-styled courtesy squat when Ray walked into the room. 

“I’m very confused,” he announced as he took in the view in front of him. “Clay, Sonny – the hell you two doing?” 

“I’m tryna get on my tiptoes, Perry – what’s it look like?” Sonny retorted, his face scrunched in concentration. “Clay quick, hold my waist.” 

Clay rolled his eyes, but did as instructed. “Come on tinker bell, you can do it.” 

“I’m tinker-Metal,” Sonny corrected absentmindedly, fist-pumping when he managed to balance on the tips of his shoes unassisted for all of two seconds. “Ha! Fucking nailed it!” 

“I will kill both of you in your sleep,” Metal snarled, but it was obvious he was fighting hard not to grin. “I do not look like that.” 

“But you will!” Sonny replied, throwing him a sloppy salute before dropping back down. “What’s up Raymundo?” 

Ray rolled his eyes. “Brock’s folks just left,” he said, and Clay perked up at that. “Jase told me to let you know, stop you from hassling Metal so he can focus on his session.” 

“You want us to stick around?” Sonny asked their brother, only to laugh when a pillow was thrown at his face. “I’ll take that as a no then. Later bro – you’ll be a ballerina in no time. Oh my god, you’ll be a bro-rina!” the Texan said, flapping his hands faux-excitedly, then frowned. “Wait, a Mellarina? Metrina? Fuck it - I believe in you!” 

“Jesus Sonny, shut up,” he laughed as he pushed the Texan out the door, waving over his shoulder as he heard Ray apologise to a chuckling Natalie and a growling Metal. “He woken at all? Said anything?” he asked once their 2IC joined them in the corridor. 

“Eh – kinda. We think he was dreaming about Sonny,” Ray remarked mildly. Sonny looked elated at the thought. 

“Really?” 

Clay bit his lip when he saw the laughter in Ray’s eyes, but kept quiet. This would be good. “Yeah. I mean, he muttered something that sounded like bananas and sharks, and we thought ‘now who would that be’?” 

The stink-face Sonny gave Ray was priceless. Clay wished he’d taken a picture. 

“Go to hell, Perry,” Sonny groused, and Clay just patted the grumbling Texan on the shoulder in consolation. 

Keeping quiet, he pushed the door open and slipped inside, moving out of the way immediately to make room for Sonny and Ray without letting in too much light from the corridor. Jason was in a chair near the head of the bed reading a file, giving them a glance as they entered before turning back to his paperwork. 

“Where’s Trent,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. If there was one skill he and his brothers excelled at – had to, considering stealth was necessary to a SEAL’s survival on an op - it was talking quietly. “Thought he woulda been here.” 

“He was here all night,” Ray replied, moving so they were standing shoulder to shoulder and could talk in his ear. “Jase sent him home when he arrived at first light – he’s got another counselling session in the afternoon, and he needs to be well rested before he tackles that.” 

He nodded, satisfied. “Vic?” 

“Told him to come by this afternoon. No point in us all being here with nothing to do.” 

“Fair enough.” He wandered over to the free chair opposite Jason’s and sat down, his eyes drawn by a glimmer of movement, and he smiled when a certain doggy grin was thrown his way. “Hey buddy,” he murmured, giving Cerb a scratch behind the ears when he wiggled his way out from under the bed. “Bet you’re glad to see your dad, huh?” 

As though he knew he had to be quiet, Cerberus whined softly. He smirked when the dog started nosing at his pockets, so he took out the treat he’d brought and handed it over. 

A soft groan had them all looking at the bed, eyes widening slightly as Brock shifted. “Cer…” 

He shared a look with Jason, but stayed quiet. As much as he wanted to call out to his brother, try and draw him from his sleep so he could talk to him, Dr Bradley had made it clear that doing so could set Brock’s recovery back. And none of them wanted that. 

Cerberus whined again, slightly louder this time to get his handler’s attention. He shushed him quickly, giving Jason an exasperated look when his team leader glared at him – yeah okay Jason; like he could explain to a dog why he had to be quiet! – but Cerberus wasn’t having a bar of it.

He started whining in earnest, getting louder with his impatience whilst trying to look past the bed railings. Brock whimpered at the sound; his brow scrunching and pain slowly etching lines into his face the longer Cerberus carried on. 

Panicking whilst ignoring the furious mutters from those around him to shut him up, Clay did the only thing he could think of. He picked Cerberus up, and placed him by Brock’s feet. This was, of course, something the hospital staff had outright forbidden when they’d allowed him to be brought in; there was a high risk Cerberus could get tangled in the wires and tubes Brock was still hooked up to, so he was to stay on the ground and out of the way at _all times_. 

But he had no idea what else to do – both to keep their canine quiet and to calm Brock down. 

Thankfully, rather than walk closer to Brock and put the equipment at risk, Cerb curled up around his handler’s feet; the connection doing exactly what they both needed. 

Cerberus fell quiet. 

Brock settled, the pain fading from his face. 

Nobody moved for a solid minute after Brock stopped moving, and when it appeared that they were in the clear, everyone exhaled slowly. 

“Good thinking Clay,” Sonny breathed, patting Cerb’s head idly. “That coulda ended badly.” 

“Doc will kill me if he spots him on the bed,” he replied, voice glum. Great, now it’d be his fault Cerberus couldn’t stay in the hospital. 

“We’ll just keep him at the foot of the bed,” Jason muttered, cupping the back of his neck with both hands, his expression draw and exhausted. “Leash him there if we have too. I’ll talk with Doc when he comes in, see what he says.”

Clay nodded, dropping himself back into his chair with a long winded sigh as he settled in for his vigil. The rest of his brothers did the same.

And now, all they had left to do was wait.

* * *

As the week went on, they fell into a routine.

Trent and Cerberus would stay with Brock overnight; using the camp bed Lisa had given them to sleep if and when needed. Jason and Clay would come by first thing in the morning; Jason to relieve Trent while Clay would collect Cerb after his workout to take him to the training grounds for a couple hours. By the time he got back around midday with Sonny in tow, Jason would be heading over to see Natalie and Metal during his rehab session – apparently he was doing remarkably well, so he and Sonny ensured they had the exits scoped out for when they’d inevitably have to flee a fully-functioning Scott’s wrath.

After Metal’s rehab session, his girlfriend would come to visit for a couple hours – which meant no one felt too guilty about the fact that they didn’t spend as much time with him as they did Brock. When she left, she’d bring Metal to Brock’s room so he could also be there for his brother. Vic would come by later in the afternoon, and then Ray, Naima and the kids would relieve him for a few hours in the evening before Trent returned, and so the cycle continued.

Eric, Lisa and Mandy would stop by when they could – their responsibilities not allowing them as much freedom as everyone else, but they made the effort to be there, and that was all that mattered.

Brock for his part was mostly unconscious throughout the week, waking for a few seconds here and there before drifting off again. Clay had come in one morning to see Trent frozen beside Brock’s bed, a single tear rolling down his cheek. His heart had leapt into his throat, his brain conjuring up awful scenarios before he realised the reason for such a reaction from his brother. Brock’s hand was curled around one of Trent’s fingers.

While it wasn’t much, the fact that’d he’d been aware enough to hold on at all was a major improvement from the state of utter unresponsiveness he’d previously been in.

As promised, Brock’s parents were back on the Friday afternoon to see their son, and it just so happened to be a full crowd crammed into Bravo 5’s room when they were there – Metal had put his foot down and demanded to be allowed to spend a few hours by his brother’s bedside, Trent had come in early to see the Reynolds elders, and the others just… hadn’t left.

They were all quiet when they spoke, their volume barely above a whisper as they talked amongst themselves. Bravo had all been there for the afternoon, absorbed with another poker game to help pass the time. The parents’ arrival was a welcome break to their otherwise long vigil.

Mrs Reynolds had leaned down to press a kiss to her son’s forehead in greeting, when Brock cracked open his eyes and mumbled, “d’t… ‘nt go… sch’l…”.

Everyone froze, staring at the man in the bed.

“Uh,” Mrs Reynolds said after a moment, just as surprised as the rest of them considering there’d been no indication her son was anywhere near awake a moment ago. “Right.” Shaking off the shock, she stroked a hand through Brock’s curls. “It’s okay, darling, you don’t have to go to school,” she murmured, smiling despite herself at the memories of a younger Brock whining for five more minutes before he was hustled out of bed to do his morning chores on the farm before school. “Go back to sleep.”

Brock made a quiet, pleased sound before closing his eyes again. Everyone looked at each other, grins threatening to break free. It was the first time he’d spoken in the last few days, and it was also the longest sentence he’d come out with.

Whilst it wasn’t a full one, it was enough.

* * *

By the end of the second week, Metal was released from the hospital – as Clay and Sonny painfully found out when the man tackled them both on their way in, then promptly chased them back into the parking lot with roars of vengeance - and Brock was awake more often than not and finally talking. Kind of.

When he did, his words were mumbled or stuttered over – and he had yet to make a single, clear sentence. It was only Doc and Dr Bradley’s assurances that it was to be expected, and to not read too much into it just yet that kept their hopes up for a full recovery.

Brain injuries were tricky things, both doctors reminded them over and over again – while the damage was fading from the MRI scans, it wasn’t completely gone. It wasn’t an overnight process - they had to give it, and Brock, time to recover.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. When Brock was feeling up to it, he’d try and talk to them; ask what happened, what injuries had put him in the hospital. When he could go home. What they were doing for the day, how Clay was finding training Cerberus – any question he could think of that would help pass the time. They all did their best to reassure him that he was recovering, that they were missing him and he’d be out of the hospital soon. But it was obvious his speech issue was making Jason worry.

The man wouldn’t admit to it, but Clay could read the worry in his boss’ eyes.

_“Y’know, it’s not like him not being able to talk would be any different to before,” he mused quietly to Jason from their spot near the door. Trent was talking to Brock, regaling him with some story that had the canine handler grinning, utterly entranced by the tale with his hand buried in his sleeping dog’s fur; Cerberus now allowed near the head of the bed as the majority of the equipment had been removed._

_Jason frowned at him, curious. “What do you mean?”_

_“Think about it - how often does Brock actually talk on a mission? If he recovers enough that physically he’s cleared to return to the field, and it’s just his speech impediment that’s the issue… well.” He shrugged, looking at Jason as though the answer was obvious. When it was clear the man was still confused, Clay rolled his eyes._

_“He can still operate, Jase. It’s rare any of us are sent off on our own, so there’d always be someone to answer calls or give Cerb commands if he can’t. And we can develop a code for him on the radio on the off chance he is by himself. It’s not fair to pull him from the team if he can still kick our asses physically.”_

_Jason sighed heavily, smiled despite himself at the rough laughter that rumbled from his bedridden brother. It was wishful thinking, but he appreciated Clay’s optimism. “Lindell may not give us a choice, but it’s a good point. I’ll see what I can do.”_

Ray wandered down the corridor back to Brock’s room. Naima had brought the kids in to see his brother like she had every day since they’d been permitted to visit, and her arrival meant he could slip away to give Mack a call - follow up with him on his recovery. He’d been so absorbed the last few weeks with his brothers’ situation that he’d practically forgotten about the man overseeing his Warrant Officer application. In fact if it wasn’t for Naima asking if he’d heard from him, he would’ve forgotten to check on him entirely.

To say he was mortified was an understatement. Thankfully Mack had been understanding; his wound hadn’t been as bad as initially expected so he’d taken some time off to recover at home. When asked, Ray filled him in on the recoveries of his teammates and told him that they were cautiously optimistic about Brock’s chances of returning to the field.

Once he’d finished on the phone, promising Mack he’d swing round for a beer later in the week, he headed back to his family. Just before he entered the room, his phone dinged. Removing it from his pocket, he frowned when he saw it was a message from his wife. Thinking it was a request for food or drink he opened it, but found it was a picture instead. When he entered the room, the picture matched the sight before him, and he grinned.

RJ was curled in the crook of Brock’s arm and fast asleep, one hand buried in the man’s curls and the thumb of his other hand in his mouth. On the opposite side, Jameelah was reading her latest book assignment out loud, her brow furrowed in concentration and her finger moving across the page as she spoke. Brock was nodding and smiling while he listened to her, completely absorbed with the story and oblivious to the two adults in the room.

Cerberus was curled sprawled over Brock and Jameelah’s lap, paws in the air and as deeply asleep as his son appeared to be. It looked highly uncomfortable, but as he’d seen Cerb sleep in weirder positions in the past he didn’t say anything.

Ultimately, it was a sweet moment, and an even sweeter photo; and a good reminder of why Brock was the favourite uncle, despite the effort the rest of the team put in to convince his kids otherwise. So he sent it to Brock’s parents, and after a brief second of indecisiveness about how much shit he wanted to stir up, he shrugged and sent it to the rest of the team as well.

As expected, complaints of unfair advantages blew his phone up minutes later. A quick glance to the bed, and he had to stifle a laugh when he realised Brock was looking at him, his expression smug.

Damn kid knew what he’d just done, and apparently wholeheartedly approved.

It was Vic’s turn to sit by Brock’s bedside. Having relieved Clay and Sonny a couple hours ago, he’d not long finished some paperwork Jason had given him, and was now watching the latest episode of Supernatural on the tv in his brother’s room – courtesy of the chrome-caster he’d brought along a few days ago.

Having been subjected to one of Sonny’s griping sessions about there being _nothing_ on tv, and _how can people put_ _up with watching this drivel_ – he’d brought the device in and hooked it up to shut the Texan up. A move everyone had been grateful for.

He was about fifteen minutes into the new episode – the show was a guilty pleasure that he’d never admit to watching under pain of death - and was completely absorbed by what was happening that he nearly fell out of his seat at the quiet, “Tha’ s’perna’ral?”

He turned, startled. “No,” he said immediately, despite Dean and Sam clearly having an argument on the screen.

Brock stared at him, and he knew he’d have to be thick as bricks to misread the ‘I’m calling you out on your bullshit’ look he was being given. “Maybe?” Shit. He was going to be given _so much_ grief for this if Brock said anything. Maybe his brain damage would make him forget?

He blanched. Wow. Now he felt like total shit. Way to go Lopez, wish memory loss for your already injured brother. Nice one.

“I…it th’n…ne…w epi…epis…Ode?” Brock managed to get out, his frustration at his difficulty talking quickly melting into excitement when he nodded hesitantly. Vic felt a grin creep onto his face, and took the episode back to the beginning. Okay, so he and Brock might not be close, and they might not have a ‘thing’ together like everyone else did, but he had a feeling this might just be the start of one.

* * *

Brock was released from the hospital into Clay’s care three weeks after he was removed from the ICU.

Once his body had done the majority of the physical healing, he recovered his mobility and strength in leaps and bounds – taking to Natalie’s physiotherapy like a duck to water and surpassing all of her expectations. Natalie had admitted to Jason one night – without breaking the patient confidentiality part of her job – that as Brock’s energy returned, she was the one having to keep up with him.

Mountain goat indeed.

Speech therapy was tackled with the same eagerness, and before long Brock was once again talking flawlessly. Sonny made a smart-ass comment one afternoon – a comment that got his ears clipped by more than one person - that courtesy of the instructions the therapist had left for him, they’d heard more from Brock in the last week than they had heard from him all year.

Jason was hard pressed to disagree.

With Brock free from the hospital life had more or less returned to normal. He and Ray were in Bravo’s break room, having just finished a training session with the latest batch of greenies and were currently talking shit when his phone pinged. Pulling the device out, he frowned at the message that greeted him.

**_From: B.Floret_ **

Goddamn Sonny. When the hell did he have time to get his hands on his phone? Now he was going to have to check all the contacts to make sure they weren’t stupid nicknames or whatnot that he couldn’t identify when he needed to.

 **_Jase, help! He’s brother penning me!_ ** ****

His phone pinged again. **_Brother Benning me._**

He was very confused. The fuck did ‘brother benning’ mean?

“Everything alright Jase?” Ray asked, expression torn between worry and amusement. “You look -”

His phone rang, cutting his friend off. Hitting answer than speakerphone, he mouthed “it’s Brock” so Ray knew who was calling. Ray sat up immediately, eyes narrowed in concern.

 _“Goddamn pain meds and goddamn auto-correct!”_ Brock all but wailed down the line. _“Clay is smother henning me, Jase! Save me!”_

Ray shoved his knuckles in his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. He rolled his eyes. Clay hadn’t even had Brock with him for a _week,_ and he’d gone full smother-hen mode, goddamn it. In the background he heard, _“Brock! Stop walking around! For godsakes, you’re going to hurt yourse - don’t you hobble away from me mister! Ohmigod sit down!”_

“Brock, sit your ass down before you fall down,” he sighed. Thank god it wasn’t anything too serious beyond risking a stress aneurism for Clay. Wait. That could be serious. He grabbed his bag, Ray did the same. They’d finished training anyway, so they might as well intervene before things got out of hand.

Considering it was Brock and Clay, anything could happen.

“I’ll rally the boys; we’ll go play pool or something.”

* * *

_Two months later_

Jason leaned on the railing of the porch; coffee in hand and enjoying the sun on his face. With the full team back together, Blackburn had approved a weekend away for Bravo to get some training in as a unit. There was a ranch a few hours outside of Virginia Beach that belonged to an old friend, and Jason had organized for them to spend their time there; the large forest and open fields providing plenty of opportunities to play around with the weapons they’d brought, and goof off like the idiots they were.

He’d woken not long ago, the need to purge the whiskey he’d enjoyed far too much the night before from his system making itself known. On his way back from the bathroom he’d done a quick head count of sleeping brothers in the living room, and – much to his displeasure and yet completely unsurprising – discovered he was two humans and a dog short. Assuming he’d find them in the kitchen, he’d gone to sort coffee.

He didn’t find them, but he found their note. How either man had been functioning enough to get up before midday, he had no idea, but he hadn’t questioned it.

That was over an hour ago, he was onto his second cup and now that it was just after ten, he was starting to question it.

The door opened behind him, the grumbling figure making their way towards him easily identifying him as Ray. He didn’t bother to turn, simply raised his mug which was bumped with another in greeting.

“You’re stressing.”

“No,” he countered, still not turning to look at the man. Ray leaned against the railing next to him, took a sip. “I’m mildly concerned.”

“You hear that?” Ray asked, cupping a hand to his ear and pausing for dramatic effect. “That’s my bullshit radar going off. You’ve got the eyebrows of doom thing going on. What is it?”

Now he looked at him, frowning. “The eyebrows of what?”

“Stop sidestepping the question, what is it?”

He rolled his eyes irritably, but reached into his pocket and handed the note over. Ray also rolled his eyes when he read it.

“Oh boy.”

“Mmhm.”

Ray looked at his watch, cursed when he saw the time.

“Mmmmhmmmm.”

The door opened again, spewing out the rest of his team. Sonny looked like death warmed over, Trent and Full Metal not looking much better. Vic was the only one who looked semi functional, which was good because it meant he wouldn’t burn the bacon when Jason oh so cheerily allocated him to breakfast duty. Again. The kid could _cook_.

“Man, I am _starving_ ,” Sonny whined, hand resting on his stomach as though he was expecting it to make a break for it. Jason was just grateful the oaf had remembered to put pants on when he got up. “Lopez, where’s my breakfast?”

“I’ve got a knuckle sandwich on hand, otherwise you’re shit outta luck buddy,” Vic replied, neatly sidestepping the clumsy hand that shot his way. Looking at Jason then Ray, he could tell something was wrong. “What’s going on? You look worried, and Jase has got the eyebrows of doom going on.”

Jason jammed his coffee free hand on his hip and glowered at his brother. “The fuck is this eyebrows of doom shit?! Who started that?”

Ray handed the note over, but before Vic could grab it Sonny snatched it and read it aloud. “ _Bam Bam, Broccoli and the Hair Missile. Departure time: 0600_ – well that’s disgustingly early, the hell is the matter with them? Obviously they weren’t drunk enough last night. _Return: 1000. SAR: 1045_.” Sonny looked at his watch, before looking at the group. “Well shit, you think we need to mount a FIB?”

Vic frowned. “The fuck is a FIB?”

“Fetch Idiot Brothers, dipshit, keep up,” Sonny replied, rolling his eyes like it was obvious then clutching his head when it hurt.

Before anyone could answer they heard a dog bark in the distance. They were now all leaning against the railing, drinking their coffees and watching as first Cerberus, then two figures who could only be Brock and Clay appeared at the end of the drive.

Unsurprisingly, Cerb made it up the steps first and flopped onto the porch, panting heavily. As the two SEALs were still a few minutes out, Jason grabbed the water bowl from inside the door and set it down for when Cerb was ready to drink it.

The poor thing shuffled closer, then face planted into his water.

As they got closer Trent swore, set his mug down onto the railing so he didn’t lose his coffee and marched down the steps to greet them - Ray right behind him. Jason felt his jaw drop while the others cursed.

Brock and Clay collapsed on the ground, sprawled on their backs which only further emphasised the fact their arms and torsos were covered in blood.

“Seriously Clay?!” he snapped, flapping a hand in Brock’s direction. “The hell is the matter with you?! He hasn’t even been cleared for a week and you break him already?”

A blond head popped up from the ground, Clay looking highly offended. “What? No!” He slapped Ray’s hands away as the man started checking him for wounds.

“Where are you hurt Clay, you need to tell me! Trent! I can’t see anything!”

“Stop – stop it Ray!” Clay grumped, trying to wiggle backwards and out of reach. “Christ, calm your farm man, it’s not our blood!”

“Yeah!” Brock piped up, mimicking Clay and slapping Trent’s hands away. “There – stop it, Trent! Down boy! There was a cow in distress giving birth! We helped!”

Trent and Ray leaped away like they’d been burned.

“Oh my god!” Trent cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Straight into the shower the both of you, then I’m dragging your sorry asses to the town doctor to get shots!"

Brock and Clay looked at the medic with wide eyes. “Oh c’mon Trent,” they whined in unison.

“Don’t you ‘c’mon Trent’ me!” the medic countered irritably. “How many times have I told you – don’t you look at me like that – NO!” He took off running, Brock and Clay chasing him with identical evil grins.

“C’mere Trent!”

“Yeah we just want to talk to you!”

“Fuck off the pair of you before I let you die of rabies!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Trent!” Sonny yelled, cackling at his brother’s misfortune - only to back up a step when after Brock and Clay looked at each other, Clay turned on his heel and headed his way.

“Hey Sonny!”

“Nuh uh, y’all can fuck right off!”

“Vic!” Trent yelled, still running from Brock who was – despite his previous exhaustion – gaining on the medic. “VIC GET THE HOSE!”

“On it!” Vic shouted back, sprinting off to do exactly that.

Cerb, having recovered was now sprinting around the yard, barking at the mayhem around him. Full Metal was standing there, yelling insults and unhelpful advice to whoever was listening – which was no one, but that didn’t deter him – and Ray was filming while heading back up the stairs to undoubtedly get more coffee and get out of the line of fire.

Jason just leaned against the railing again and took another sip.

It was good to see that some things never changed.


End file.
